Rosewater
by Lywinis
Summary: How can one woman be so damned distracting? Ben struggles to reason with himself.
1. Mourningwood

Rosewater

A Fable III fanfiction

Chapter One: Mourningwood

* * *

She'd first drawn his eye at the Mourningwood Fort, a woman traveling with Walter. Short, tousled red hair and intelligent eyes did not mask the determination on her face. The hammer strapped to her back and the pistol belted to her hip told of combat prowess; an easy smile and a cheerful greeting had spoken of an innocence that was rare in this day and age. He had allowed himself to eye her curves with an oblique glance; she wore trousers and high, buckled boots, capped with a bodice that flaunted a trim torso and long, muscular legs.

In the dim afternoon sunlight of the Mourningwood, she was, in a word, _glorious_.

He had been revving up his most charming smile, aiming to be shot down as fast as possible, when the words had tumbled from Walter in a rush. "And of course you know who I have with me, Swiftie. The Princess was no longer safe at the castle, and I've brought her with me."

"The Princess?" Ben blurted, before he could stop himself. "I thought her hair was a light brown, and she would be more – I dunno, _royal_?"

She winked at him, her bright red hair glinting in the watery sunlight. "I'd like to think I have this incognito business down pat if you doubt who I am. Let's see if I can convince you."

She drew herself up to her full height, chin raised as she leveled a commanding stare at him. He swallowed, his heart in his throat, because she matched the portraits of the royals he remembered as a lad. She had her father's look about her – and King Sparrow bred true.

That brought the flirtation to a screeching halt. She was out of his reach, and he knew it. He might not be the bottom rung, but he was damned close. He coughed into his closed fist to regain his composure, flicking his eyes between Walter and Swift. They had been too busy discussing strategy to notice his discomfiture, and he was glad of it. He threw himself into the discussion, flinching only a little when she came to stand beside him, hand on a hip as she looked over Swift's crude map.

"And Captain Finn will be happy to show you the mortar. I daresay it's easy enough to pick up," said Walter, causing Ben to start.

He'd been too busy trying to wet dry lips with a tongue that felt like sandpaper to pay attention; as the other two men crooked twin brows in askance, he murmured something in an affirmative, jerking his head at the stairway. She followed him with a blasé smile, climbing the steps two at a time as they made their way to the mortar.

"So, your highness, what brings you to our neck of the woods?" he asked.

"Please don't. I'm Eleanor, not my title. Besides, Walter wants me to be a soldier for now, see how the other half lives." She smiled again, and he returned it, without thinking.

"Eleanor. It suits you." _Of course it does, dolt, it's her name._

She laughed. "Mother seemed to think so. Most just call me Ellie."

"All right then, Private Ellie, let me introduce you to the mortar, and to Private Jammy."

Jammy had been his usual cheerful self, telling the Princess (_Ellie_) how to use the mortar. She picked up on it with surprising speed, almost besting his record with her first go. She grinned at him, her face covered in soot, as the last hollow man exploded to powder. He had never seen anyone getting such enjoyment out of blowing hollow men to bits. It was charming, really.

_No, it isn't. She's the Princess, and you know better._

He tugged on his curling blonde forelock that was forever getting into his eyes, making a show of his appraisal of her. Her grin faded, an uneasy look as he hemmed and hawed.

"You'll do," he said at last, his smile warm for her as Private Jammy nodded in agreement. "To be honest, I haven't seen shooting like that since ol' Swiftie decided to give it another go."

She laughed, a rich, throaty sound that sent a spark sizzling down his spine. "I'm glad I make muster, then. I'd hate to be outshot by my own troops. It wouldn't do for the public image. I'm supposed to protect my people, after all –"

"Hollows in the trenches!" came the cry, and her face hardened as she turned back to the mortar. Ben slung his rifle from his shoulder, kneeling next to her and picking off stragglers.

The fighting this time was brutal, more vicious than any attack before it. Despite the mortar and the ranged support on the walls, the splintering of the wooden doors could be heard below. A shuddering crack rocked the walls of the fort and he stumbled, sending his shot wide and ripping an oath from his lips.

"'ware the doors! The hollow men have broken through!" A flash of red swept past his vision as Ellie pounded down the stairs, already pulling the hammer from her back as Marsden and Locke hove their shoulders into the door. The thick wooden doors rocked on their hinges, bursting inward with a squeal of metal as the hinges snapped, sending the men flying.

"Avo's blood, they're in," he said, reloading his rifle, his voice rising in a roar as he crossed the grounds to the rest of the men. "Back to back! Don't let them split you up! Like we drilled now, lads, look sharp for the Princess!"

Blue wisps floated through the doorways, malevolent and spreading the chill of death that preceded a hollow man attack as they sank into the ground. Rotting hands punched through the packed dirt of the parade ground, the corpses scrabbling through the earth to pull themselves up. Empty eye sockets gaped, lit from behind with the blue faerie fire as they advanced on the Swift Brigade.

He settled his rifle to his shoulder, firing in unison with the unit, sending the hollow men staggering back. New holes sprouted in skulls as the devils shuffled forward, their weapons raised.

Ben swore as he felt a rush of heat past his head. He thought it to be someone shooting too close, but then the whole group of hollow men shrank back as a pillar of flame erupted in the middle of their group.

"Magic," he said, his voice as low as his breathing as he saw the Princess advancing on the enemy, her hands alive with writhing flame and crackling electricity. The hollow men saw the new target and turned toward her, jaws dropping open with their unearthly wails echoing throughout the parade ground.

The magical energy seemed to suck something out of the air; pressure grew in his chest, his eyes watering from watching the swirling power reach its apex. She gave a snarl as one got too close, releasing the bolt that erupted around her in all directions, washing the courtyard in searing flame and the snapping sizzle of electricity.

The soldiers flinched back, but the flames did not burn them. A warm wind, uncomfortable at best, whipped past his face as the flames passed over them. He breathed in the scent of sulfur and ozone on that wind, in awe of the woman that held the line before him.

She was using magic. Against all odds, a Hero walked Albion once again.

He shook his thoughts away, determined not to disappoint. His rifle was a steady report in the fray, picking off stragglers and those that attempted to flank her as she swung the large hammer she wielded with a curious, brutal grace. She crushed skulls with hammer and pistol, firing from the hip as if she were born to it, resorting to that wicked flame spell when she was surrounded.

The unit was cohesive, a fighting force well used to each other, and they fell into step with the Princess, setting a punishing rhythm as they battled the forces of the undead seeking to crush the life in the fort. Cries of pain were interspersed with the report of gunfire, an anguished shout making him snap his head around as Private Jammy crumpled to the ground.

"Jammy!" he cried, lifting his rifle to his shoulder to fire at the offending hollow man. Its head burst into flecks of rotting flesh and bone as a pistol cracked once, then twice. The Princess set another approaching corpse aflame as she rolled out of the way of a rusty cleaver, making her way to Jammy's side. She met Ben's eyes, her own closing as she gave her head a brief shake.

The fray devolved into chaos, the roar of rifles, pistols, and the clap of magic being released sounding more and more frequent as the hollow men kept coming. His eyes were watering from the acrid stench of gunpowder, the bitter tang of it coating his tongue in a foul film. Wave after wave of the undead fell to saber, rifle and pistol and still they came, crawling over their brethren as they were sent back to hell.

A sudden reprieve in the clearing smoke allowed them time to breathe, and he looked for Major Swift. Swift was barking orders to nearby troops, and he turned to Ben as he approached.

"Report on Private Jammy, Captain?"

Ben shook his head. "Jammy's luck ran out, it seems. Poor blighter."

"Then that makes four." Swift gave a sigh. "Still, we would have lost many more if Walter hadn't shown up with the Princess."

"Yes, sir. She's shown us what for, that's for sure." He grinned, an expression that died when the major gave him a sharp look, moustache quivering.

"None of that, boy. Walter will have your bollocks."

"Aye, sir."

"More incoming!" The wisps floated through the air, chilling the parade grounds once again as they swooped for the fresh-dug graves. A rumbling could be heard as the crude wooden cross erected for Lieutenant Simmons shook loose from the soil, toppling over as the corpse dragged itself from the grave.

"Lieutenant Simmons, you were under strict orders to remain buried!" Major Swift shouted, gesturing with his saber.

Ben rolled his eyes. "Does no one follow orders anymore?"

"Shut up, Ben."

Another fireball impacted with Simmons's head, causing the resurrected officer to turn, facing down the Princess. His saber rose in the air as he pointed it at her, and she gave a feral grin as she smashed her way through the hollow men that moved to corner her. Though her overhand strikes were powered by enormous strength, there was a grace to it that was undeniable as she battered the hollow men back with feints and crushing blows when one separated from its fellows.

Ben covered her, picking off more of the hollow men that meant to surround her and clearing a path for her to escape the sweeping strikes of Simmons's saber as he slashed at her. She rolled under a cross chop, planting her pistol underneath Simmons's rotting jaw and firing as she leapt away. The hollow man's head rocked back on his shoulders, and he staggered. Her hammer impacted with his midsection, her gauntlet glowing with arcane power as she unleashed her magical might around her, incinerating the smaller hollow men.

Simmons growled and struck out with the hilt of his saber, catching her in the head and spinning her 'round, tumbling to the dirt. Ben shouted something incoherent, firing several shots that impacted into Simmons's broad back. The shambling hollow man turned, growling as the men concentrated their fire on him. The handle of her hammer looped around his chest, her strength lifting the hollow man clear off the ground.

"Lieutenant Simmons, you are hereby relieved of – _duty_," she said, grunting with the strain of twisting the hammer against Simmons's chest, the cracking snap of bone cutting through the rifle fire and cries of pain. Simmons roared as he crumbled into powder, the wisp light dying in his eyes as he was laid to his final rest. She rested her head against the handle of her weapon, worn out from the fighting. Simmons's second death marked the end of the hollow man invasion, the remaining few crumpling to the ground where they stood, their wisps fleeing.

"Well done, lass." Walter clapped her on the shoulder, and she grinned at him.

"I've picked up a few things since you've been teaching me, after all."

The sky cleared, the hollow men beaten back for another day. The Princess even helped bury the dead, which was a surprise to him – never had he seen nobility dirty their hands before today. She wiped the sweat from her brow, accepting the dipper of water that the private held out to her with a smile and a nod of thanks.

Ben should have been doing other things. He knew he shouldn't be staring. But she was fascination itself – a real Hero, just like the stories he used to read, and the tales he heard about her father. He jumped when Walter cleared his throat behind him.

"Hello, Walter," he said. His grin was guilty, even he could tell. The nervous lift to his lips didn't fool the old retainer for an instant, and the scowl he wore said volumes as he folded his arms. "Enjoying catching up with the brigade?"

"Ben, shut up." Walter glowered at him, and he felt his heart sink. He'd been caught red handed, fair and square, though. He straightened, meeting Walter's eyes. "You're keeping a close eye on her highness."

"I swear it's not how you think." The glare deepened. "Okay, maybe a little, but I swear I didn't mean any harm."

"You had better not be getting any of your clever ideas, Ben. She's too much of a lady to understand harmless flirting, especially from a lack wit like you. You'll break her heart, and she doesn't need that right now."

"How is it harmless flirting if I actually mean what I say?" This was the wrong answer. Walter fair to snarled at Ben, his lips lifting away from his teeth.

"Let me put it to you this way, Captain Finn. I will see you stripped of your rank and drummed out of the army, and then I will personally hunt you down and remove your balls. I made a promise to the King, and _I will keep that promise_. Am I understood?"

Ben swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his nervousness. "Perfectly understood, sir."

"Good." Walter turned on his heel and stalked away, casting a dark look over his shoulder at him as he went to fetch the Princess.

_No, as he went to go fetch __**Ellie**_. With that mutinous thought, Ben knew he was in for a lot of trouble. He vowed to stay out of it if he could.

* * *

A/N: So this is what I've been working on for two weeks. Damn you, Lionsgate, pulling a Bioware on the only interesting character in the bloody game. _Aquila_ will have a new chapter up tomorrow, but for now, enjoy Ben in all his silliness.


	2. Bowerstone Industrial

Chapter Two: Bowerstone Industrial

* * *

Ben sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair as he stared into the flickering candle flame. It had been a long road to get where he was, and he had made it unscathed, in relative terms. He hadn't so much as flirted with her since that day, remaining aloof but friendly. His desk in the underground rebel headquarters was littered with scraps of paper with bits and pieces of his travels scribbled onto them. He picked through them, trying to gather his thoughts, even though he knew it was useless at this point.

He was distracted.

It wasn't the usual distraction, either. Well, if he were being totally honest with himself, he would admit that the old distractions paled in comparison to this one – she was larger than life, after all. She had, in fact, quite taken over his waking thoughts, burning out the idea of adventure with a totality that frightened him to his toes.

He pored over his maps in his down time, planning his routes and destinations; he even had separate routes marked in colored inks. Spiderwebbing trails scrawled all across the known world, petering out at the blank edges of the map, a cheeky question mark in the space where knowledge should be, signaling his intent in his lopsided scrawl. It did no good, and he found himself doodling her face, so well-known to him that he might as well be looking right at her. He crumpled the parchment and tossed it into the fire with an irritated snort.

Ben Finn did not brood. It was impossible. He looked at the flask that sat on the desk beside him. He didn't often drink; it was a social thing for him now, and he made sure to never overindulge. The leather wrapping on the flask was smooth in his hand as he weighed it in his palm before placing it back on the desk. Best not to begin that vicious cycle again.

Instead, he pushed back his chair and rose, intending to take a walk outside. He hefted his rifle, belting his saber in its baldric as well. Better to be safe than sorry.

Bowerstone Industrial was just as foul smelling at night as it was during the day, and he wrinkled his nose as he slipped into the nearby alleyway, intending on ghosting to the city limits and back again. Footsteps clattering on the cobblestones ahead of him made him pause, sinking into the shadows of a doorway as they sounded closer.

A familiar bark heralded Soludis, Ellie's hound. The dog leapt upon him and planted forepaws on his chest to lick his face, smelling him even through the funk of the docks and factories. He laughed and scratched the dog's sides as he moved out of the shadows.

"Good boy," he said. "No use hiding with you around, eh?"

"Not if you have any kind of food on you, there isn't." Ellie sauntered up the street, her face limned with the darkening twilight. He shot her a grin, which she returned, turning her face to greet him. "All right, Ben?"

"Your face," he said, not sure what he was seeing at first. Blue glowing lines shaped into delicate thistle leaves curled in a crescent around her left eye, lighting that side of her face in the encroaching darkness. The glow was muted, but she placed her hand against it, almost as if she were ashamed of it.

"It's the magic gauntlets. I got the tattoo before I started using the magic heavily, but all of the spells I've been using make it glow." She ducked her head, looking away. "I could get it removed, but…I rather like it."

"No, it's not that at all," he said, scrambling for an explanation. "It's striking, and quite suits you. I wasn't expecting it, is all."

She smiled, the marking flaring a little brighter with her obvious pleasure. "I appreciate the compliment in the spirit it was given, then. What are you doing out and about? I thought you and the Swift Brigade were lying low with Page?"

"I needed a walk." _To escape my thoughts and how you seem to dominate them, ma'am, _he amended in his head. "I was trying to clear my head for the next part of my book."

"Excellent! I've enjoyed it so far," she said.

"Wait, you're – you're not _reading_ that, are you?" He tried to remember if he'd published the chapter about the whorehouses yet. "It's a rough draft, really, not anywhere near complete. I'd hold off until I've given it a final bit of polish."

She laughed. "Adding more about the time you spent abroad discovering lasses with strong minds and strong thighs?"

He flushed, glad of the darkness for its cover. Damn. "Er, yes. I apologize, your highness, I had no idea you'd been reading it."

"Ben, it's Ellie, remember? I'll get plenty of bootlickers to call me by my title when I'm on the throne. You're my friend and a bawdy story or two won't bother me in the slightest, I assure you."

He swallowed his shame, straightening. "I was probably going to cut that chapter anyway."

"I don't know, I think it adds mystery to the man." A teasing note crept into her voice that pleased him, but he shook it off, remembering Walter's warning of several months ago. "I like a little mystery."

He tugged his forelock, avoiding her eyes. "Ah, your highness – Ellie – I wish to apologize for that. It was not a topic for polite discussion, and I should not have brought it up in my notes. I imagined the book to be only for my men, you see."

"Ben, really, it's all right." She heaved a sigh, turning away. "I took no offense."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, positive." She whistled for Soludis, the dog barking and coming to heel. "Enjoy your walk, Ben. Maybe write some more about the pirates this time, please?"

"What else can I do but obey my liege?" He gave her a wink and a bow, and she shook her head in exasperation at him, chuckling as she walked away.

He wandered off into the dark streets of Bowerstone, making his way to the city gates, his mind whirling. She was going to be the death of him. Walter would be the instrument of his destruction, but she would be the catalyst.

Perhaps he should have gone with the brandy instead.

* * *

A/N: I like Ben and Ellie. They develop a lot of chemistry later on in this story that amuses the hell out of me. Thanks for sticking around, Constant Readers!


	3. The Docks

Chapter Three: The Docks

* * *

Their flight from Bowerstone was a rough one, Logan's soldiers blockading the streets at every turn, forcing the rebels to split up on the way to the docks. Walter eyed them before sending Ben with Ellie, his gaze a silent warning to the captain to mind his manners. They darted off into the night, Soludis trotting ahead to sniff the alleyways. Ben stuck to the shadows, his rifle in his hands as they moved.

They dispatched the lone guards that patrolled the alleys, picking them off in silence until they reached the large, barred gate that led through a Reaver Industries warehouse. Peering inside, Ben bit off a curse.

"The place is crawling with Logan's men. We're going to have to fight our way though."

"Figures." She sighed, loading her pistol. She pressed her eye to a crack in the gate. "No choice though. Shall we?"

"We're going to show Logan just what traitors can do." The anger that bubbled just under the surface at the thought of Swift's death firmed his jaw, and as they kicked the gate in, his vision tunneled, focusing his fire on the ones getting too close to Ellie.

They caught the first wave by surprise, dispatching them with ease before they could call for reinforcements. The warehouse loomed high in the dark, black windows gaping like sightless eyes. Gas lights gave a steady glowing radiance that permeated the shadows that washed the alleyway. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, but he knew they had no choice.

The heavy warehouse door opened with a creak, and they peered into the blackness within. Not a sound was heard, and they both crept to the edge of the doorway, their quiet breathing overloud in the darkness.

"I don't like this. Not a bit."

"Scared of a few soldiers, Captain Finn?"

"Not on your life. More like a battalion waiting for us in the dark."

"Well, there's nothing for it. We'll go down shooting if we do."

"Always the optimist, eh, your highness?"

"Shut up and put your shot where your mouth is, wanker."

He grinned in the darkness, tightening his grip on his rifle. He had to admit, her attitude was refreshing in the face of uncertain danger. As the door creaked open wider, he could make out the dim outlines of crates piled in haphazard lines throughout the warehouse.

So far, so good.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside with her, his palm sweating around the rifle's stock as they edged past the first line of crates. Silence reigned, the sound of their scuffling boots overloud in the darkened warehouse. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on edge still, and he could feel his nerves being drawn tight as a bowstring. He glanced around, noting that the tattoo provided enough light to see her face; her expression was just as grim as his.

"Too quiet," he said. His voice was a murmur in the silence, and she nodded. They turned to back out the way they came, intending to find another way out to the docks, when the door slammed shut and the hissing of gas lighting being turned up confirmed his fear.

It was a trap, and now they were staring down the barrels of a company of Logan's guard. One of the men in uniform stepped forward, his captain's bars bright in the gaslight. His saber was pointed at Ben's chest, and he could only feel the rising sense of disgust for the man as he began to speak.

"Benjamin Finn, you are under arrest for the crime of high treason to the crown of Albion. Drop your weapons and turn yourself over. Your companion will drop her weapons as well. If you come quietly, his majesty will show leniency."

"Like he did for Major Swift?" Ben snapped, causing the barrels to train on him. "I'd sooner die than submit to that monster."

"So be it. The punishment for treason is death. Take them –" A shot rang out, snapping the captain's head back. He fell to the ground, twitching, as Ellie holstered her pistol.

"I do believe that negotiations have ended," she said, her voice a harsh yell over the gunfire that peppered the crate they dove behind. She reloaded her gun, giving him a wild grin. "You up to this?"

"Always. I'm better than you with my rifle and you know it. Peashooter hasn't got any punch." They were shoulder to shoulder, their backs against the sturdy wooden crate as they waited for a lull in the shooting. He poked his head out and took a shot, winging the man reloading. He fell with a cry, clutching his shoulder.

She made a tsking noise as she ducked out to fire at another soldier, sending him spinning to the ground. "Oh, Ben. It's not the size of the rifle – it's how you line up the shot."

Ben smirked, his rifle cracking off another shot. He was so focused on combat that he took the banter at face value, giving back as good as he got. "Oh, I'm well aware of that. I've spent hours at the range, perfecting my technique, you know."

She laughed, trading more shots and a blast of fire that sent the men into a panic. "You'll have to show me how you do it, then, when we're not so busy. My grip is always so shaky."

"Nothing to it. You just have to wrap your fingers around it and give it a gentle squeeze. Not too hard, now - it's a delicate piece of equipment." He winked at her as they split away, tumbling to opposite crates under fire. His rifle's hammer was a blur as he shot, more soldiers falling to his wrath as he avenged his commanding officer in the only way he could.

More soldiers fell, clearing a path to the door. He got her attention and she nodded, both of them sprinting for the exit. Rounds peppered the floor of the warehouse around them, kicking up chunks of concrete that stung, but thank Avo the soldiers in Logan's army hadn't been trained by him. They couldn't hit a moving target if their lives depended on it. He grinned as they burst into the open street opposite the docks, breathing heavy in the night air that was free of the stench of gunpowder.

As they turned to engage the remaining soldiers, the night sky lit with a blast of orange flame, the ships in the harbor shaking in their moorings as they began exploding, one by one.

"That'll be Page," said Ben, squinting at the angry orange sky. "Girl's far too explosion-happy, but she's an all right sort."

"So I've heard." His head whipped towards her at the dry sarcasm. She met his face with a blank stare, but he would have sworn he detected a jealous note in her voice. Ellie nodded at the harbor. "Looks like we have a ship left. Shall we?"

"Yes, let's."

They ran along the wharf, explosions rocking the docks as more barrels of gunpowder ignited. The soldiers behind them were cut off in a spectacular blast, one of the cranes used to load the boats falling with the shrieking of steel and stone ripped from their anchoring. The ground shuddered as the entire structure came crashing down, the force sending Ellie sprawling as she lost her balance.

It was reflex.

He would swear it on his mother's grave.

He reached out and caught her, bringing her flush against him to stop her fall. She stiffened, and then relaxed as she realized he had caught her, looking up at him with dark eyes. The rumbling of more detonations could be heard, soft in the distance, but he was more aware of her breathing and the soft, feminine fragrance of rosewater that wafted to his nose.

It was a moment, so fragile, and Ben swore he would never forget it. She smiled up at him, her fingers wrapped in the sleeve of his coat to steady her. He could lean down, right now, and capture her lips with his own, no regrets. It was so tempting that he almost shifted to do it, going so far as to place his hands on her waist to draw her to him.

"Are you always so deadly a shot with everything?" she said, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

"Madam, I assure you, I hit precisely what I mean to, every time." His fingers tightened on her waist, his head angling itself to lean in of its own volition.

"Your highness!" Walter's voice sounded over the remaining explosions. Ben leapt back as though scalded, his hands in the air. The older warrior looked ready to breathe fire, shooting Ben a look that spoke volumes. "I'm glad to see you safe. Come on, let's get out of here."

Walter shooed her on ahead, and then turned to Ben. He opened his mouth to speak, but Walter slashed his hand through the air.

"Shut up, Ben."

"But, Walter, I didn't do anything, I swear."

"Shut _up_, Ben."

"Walter, she fell. What was I supposed to do, let her land on her royal face?"

Walter scowled. "I saw her fall, and you were a perfect gentleman. Don't _ever_ let me catch you doing it again."

"What?" Ben asked. He received no answer, Walter stalking away to the ship. He followed along behind, bewildered.

* * *

A/N: Oh, weapon banter, how I love you. :D


	4. Shifting Sand, Desert Rescue

Chapter Four: Shifting Sands, Desert Rescue

* * *

The Shifting Sands was an unpleasant place, Ben decided, taking another pull from his canteen as he spread out with the denizens of Aurora, searching for Ellie and Walter. Even waking up on the beach in the city of Aurora alive hadn't helped the dread that had enveloped him when he realized his friends were missing. His gut churning, he'd stumbled to the temple, begging Kalin for help.

She agreed as soon as he explained _who_ he was searching for; allies against this horrible Crawler thing seemed to be the motivation Kalin needed. They had a group of Aurorans with them for extra pairs of eyes, and the trek across the rolling sand dunes was arduous as they made slow progress in the blistering heat.

He scrubbed sweat and grit from his face as he crested another dune. As bloody hot as it was, he was not about to stop. Walter and Ellie needed him, and the revolution would die without them. He pressed on, his boots sinking to the ankle in the sand and making walking a chore, but he slogged ahead. Kalin ghosted alongside, her sandals seeming to drift over the sand as if it were a paved street.

Water mirages made the sand shimmer in the heat, dancing across his vision as he squinted into the distance. Nothing but rolling dunes stretched for miles in each direction, and he began to despair that he would never see them again.

"How are we supposed to find anything in all this sand?" he said, wiping his face again.

"We do not look in the sand, soldier of Albion. We look to the sky." Kalin pointed above, toward a mass of specks circling in the pale blue sky.

"What _are_ those?" he asked.

"Vultures. They circle the dead or dying, and we have used them to find people stranded in the desert before. Come, they are close."

They continued past more dunes, the terrain getting rockier as they approached the hovering specks in the air. Ben could see them more clearly now, and realized that the vultures were birds of some sort. They drifted in lazy spirals on the air, circling a specific point ahead in the rocky dunes.

The sand gave way to carved stone that jutted from the dunes, creating valleys and shadows in the sun. The carvings were pitted with wear from sand storms, but were clear. This was a temple of some sort, or the beginning of one. He looked around, something not sitting right in his gut as he climbed more of the dunes. This place was unsettling. The shadows _breathed_, as if some malevolent hand brought them to life. Ben couldn't shake the feeling that they were watching him as they crested a final dune that flowed down to a set of steps.

There, in the lee of the stone steps, her face bathed in shadow, lay Ellie.

"_No_." It was a solitary word, and it turned into a breathing mantra as he stumbled down the dune towards her. Vultures took wing as he reached her, flailing his arms in a wild pinwheel as he shouted at them. He was muttering under his breath as he skidded to a stop on his knees next to her. "Don't be dead. Don't you dare be dead, _please_."

Kalin knelt beside him, her hand on his shoulder to still his frantic efforts to revive her. "Peace, soldier of Albion. She is strong, and she will survive."

The leader of Aurora reached into a pouch at her belt, pulling out a small jar. Unscrewing the cap, a pungent odor wafted up that made his eyes water. She waved the jar under Ellie's nose. Ellie, to his relief and delight, flinched back from the smell, giving a soft whimper as her eyelids fluttered.

"Walter…?" Her voice was a croak, her lips dry and chapped from the heat, but it was the most beautiful thing in the world to know that she was alive. He leaned over her, a weak smile on his face as he brushed the hair from her eyes. She squinted up at him, her eyes unfocused.

"Taking a nap in the sun? Typical royalty." He didn't want to think about how much his voice shook as he said that. Instead, he supported her head while Kalin held her canteen to Ellie's lips. She let the Princess drink in small sips, until Ellie shook her head. "I was worried about you there for a while."

"Ben?" She reached for him, her hand lifting a few inches from the sand toward him. He took it, squeezing her fingers. She smiled up at him. "Good. We thought you drowned."

"No, I'm here, I promise. I'm not going anywhere. Where's Walter?" He looked around.

"Steps…" Her eyes fluttered shut again.

Kalin gestured, and four Aurorans crept up the steps, their weapons drawn. Whatever this place was, they feared it as much as it made him uneasy. His instincts had been right.

A cry of discovery sounded, and more of the group rushed up the steps, a makeshift litter in their hands. A few minutes later, they hauled Walter's still form down the stairs, the rear guard walking backward with watchful eyes. Another guard carried Soludis, the dog too weak to walk. His tongue dragged out of his mouth, and he whined as they passed his mistress, but Ben gave him a pat and he subsided.

"Come, we must get the Princess on a litter as well." Kalin gave another gesture, but Ben shook his head.

"She's not as heavy as Walter. I can carry her."

"I see." He blanched at the look she gave him.

"What? Oh no. No. No, you don't. Walter is captain of the royal guard. With him out of commission, I'm the commanding officer. It's my duty to protect the Princess." He wedged his hands underneath Ellie's back, lifting her in his arms. He was careful of the kilt she was wearing, making sure her modesty remained intact as he straightened. She whimpered, her arms going 'round his neck of their own volition.

"I…see." Kalin gave him an enigmatic smile as she rose. "We shall get them to the healer. Your Princess will recover, but I know not about the older man. Once the Crawler attacks, it is rare for them to awaken."

He glared at Kalin's retreating back before adjusting his hold on Ellie. She buried her nose into his shoulder, flinching away from the light as they passed into the bright sun of the Shifting Sands, and her breathing hitched as though it caused her pain. He held her closer, trying to keep her eyes covered as they walked. It gave him time to study the glowing tattoo on her face, the line of her throat, and the curve of her lips –

He brought that thought process to a swift halt, even as the smell of rosewater drifted up to him from her hair. That she could still come out of hell smelling like that was an amazing thing, and he gave a surreptitious sniff, feeling like an utter creeper. It _was_ her. By the Guild, how did she manage that? Something in her bath, perhaps. That brought not entirely unwelcome images of the woman in his arms clad in nothing but hot water and fizzy soap, and he shook his head to clear it.

He had to stay focused on the task at hand.

She whimpered again and he shifted his grip, his hand sliding against the soft skin of her leg until he felt the jagged ridges of a scar on her thigh. He couldn't help his curiosity, and looked. Three long, jagged gouges started at her knee, working their way up the outside of her leg to her thigh, disappearing beneath the fabric of the kilt. His breath stopped as he took in how deep the gouges must have been to cause such scarring. Balverines were the only monster in Albion to have such claws, and the thought of her fighting such creatures made a surge of possessive fear wash over him. It was unwarranted, probably unwanted, and he could not help it. He clutched her a little tighter to his chest and pressed on to Aurora.

Though she was a Hero, she was still vulnerable. He let out an exasperated breath. She was good, but not immortal, and he would see that she knew it when she woke. For now, he cast a guilty glance at Walter's prone form on the stretcher ahead, sending him a mental apology for overstepping his bounds. He wouldn't be stupid enough to give him an _actual_ apology. He liked his bollocks intact, thank you very much. A mental one would do just as well.

The temple in the desert was quite a distance from Aurora, and the extra weight was a telling burden after some walking. He slogged through the dunes without complaint, his arms aching and his shoulders burning, but the scent of her and the sound of her breathing drove him on. A shadow to his left made him look up. One of the Aurorans, a large, dark-skinned man, held out his hands for the Princess. Ben ignored him and kept walking.

"Soldier of Albion, the desert will kill those that are unwary. Heat saps the strength of bone and mind. I will shoulder the burden for a while, that you may rest." The man was persistent, keeping pace with Ben.

"Thanks for that, but I have her," he said, his fingers tightening their hold on her. "Perfectly capable of carrying her on my own."

"As you say, but she will grow heavier with each step you take until you both collapse."

"I'm far from collapsing, friend. Leave it." He grit his teeth and kept going.

"I do not think you understand – "

"Look, I said I've got her. _Bugger off_." Ben whirled on the man, his voice a snap and his teeth bared. Dark eyes widened at him, then narrowed.

"As you wish, foreigner." The Auroran ghosted away, his compatriots refusing to look at Ben. He swore under his breath and kept walking, slogging through sand that seemed to suck at his ankles in capricious glee. It was worse now, he would swear, because he had been reminded about how hot it was. Still, he trudged on; Ellie's weight was a welcome burden in the heat, for she was alive and breathing.

_Ben Finn, the diplomatic link to Albion_, he thought to himself with a snort. _Well done, you idiot._

Sheer stubbornness powered him, fuelling his limbs after the will was gone to take another step. He would not prove the Aurorans right and collapse. His pride wouldn't allow it. Sweat rolled off his brow and down his chest and back as the ache in his muscles went from a screaming discomfort to a dull throb that plagued his step. She whimpered when her face came into direct contact with the bright sunlight, and soon he hefted her higher so she could bury her face in his neck. She sighed against his throat, and his pulse pounded in his ears as he slogged over the current dune, trailing after the Aurorans.

"You're going to be the death of me, aren't you, sweetheart?" he murmured into her hair. She slept on, oblivious. "At the very least, Walter will kill me. Still, what a way to go."

He sighed with relief when Aurora came into sight at last. The sandstone walls were still some distance away, but the fact that they were within sight lent strength to his limbs, giving him a second wind as he trudged down the sand dune. He slogged along, chin held high and still uncomplaining, until the party reached the cooling shade of Aurora's walls. He made it up the steps of the temple, into the cool, darkened interior, and managed to get her into the bed the healer pointed him to before sitting down beside her with trembling muscles.

Something akin to fierce pride welled up at the realization that he'd carried her the entire way. He'd done it for her, and he would do it again, given the choice. Still, he accepted the cup of water from Kalin with a grateful nod, sipping it as he looked down at her. The water was flavored with mint, and it snapped cool on his tongue.

Kalin sat on her other side, studying her face. "You should bathe. It will drop your temperature, and you will feel better, soldier of Albion."

"I'm fine, thanks," he said, his jaw firming. "And you're allowed to call me Ben, you know."

"Ben, you will fall ill if you do not cool down. I will watch over her." Kalin's voice brooked no argument, and Ben was simply too tired to care. He stood, walking down the dais where Ellie's bed was and finding a washbasin. He stripped his vest and shirt, splashing himself with lukewarm water and sighing as he scrubbed himself down. She was right; he did feel better. The water wasn't chilled, but compared to the heat outside, was heavenly on his overheated skin.

Soludis's barks had him tugging his shirt on, and he rounded the corner to hear Ellie speaking.

"There was another of my friends here, or I thought…"

"You mean the devilishly handsome soldier, Ben Finn?" he asked, mounting the steps two at a time. Her head turned, and she smiled at him, one that warmed him straight to his toes. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than I was. Still weak." Still, she seemed much happier to see him.

"She will need barley water to replenish her fluids." Kalin rose. "I will see to it."

"Eurgh, barley water." Ellie sighed. "Guess there's no hope for it."

"Could be worse, you could both be dead." His face sobered. "This place has been ravaged beyond belief. Kalin, the leader, she says there's a lot you need to know."

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Forgive my manners, your highness." He moved toward the bed, taking her fingers and bowing low over her wrist. "Welcome to Aurora, city of nightmares."

He released her hand, settling himself on the edge of the bed. Soludis had nested himself next to his mistress's feet, and Ben busied himself with getting her boots off. She watched him, her expression unreadable. He left his hand resting on her ankle as he turned to her, his thumb tracing circles on the soft skin there. Even Walter lying nearby as the healers worked to rescue him could not deter him this time. He had earned the right to this one.

"Feeling better?" he asked, squeezing her ankle with gentle fingers.

She wiggled her toes. "Yes, I think so."

"Good. You should sleep more."

"What about Walter?"

"He's a tough old nut. He'll pull through."

She nodded. "He'd be angry if he didn't. He'd probably come back to haunt me."

He gave a low chuckle. "Knowing Walter, he'd be haunting _me_."

She settled back against the bed, her eyes slipping shut. He squeezed her fingers, waiting until her breathing evened out before rising and leaning over her. The lightest brush of his lips over her forehead was all he allowed himself, and he lingered by her bedside to wait for news of Walter.

* * *

A/N: Oh, Ben, you're getting in deeper and deeper, aren't you?


	5. The Prodigal Daughter's Return

Chapter Five: The Prodigal Daughter's Return

* * *

The hold was dark, quiet, and most of all – private. Privacy had been a rare blessing on the steamer back to Albion so far with Walter dogging his steps at every turn. All Ben really wanted was a chance to breathe in private. A quick breather so that he could face the rest of them, that's all he needed.

He slipped between the crates that were meshed against the walls of the hold, his eyes adjusting to the gloom as he moved. What he needed was an out of the way corner where he could be alone with his thoughts, so that he could get them out of his system.

He settled himself behind a large crate in the back of the hold, a pile of empty flour sacks making for a comfortable enough seat. He leaned back, his hands behind his head as he tried to avoid thinking about it.

This, of course, meant that all he could do was think about it.

His fingers twitched. He could still feel the warmth of her skin beneath his palm as he carried her through the desert, the rough ridges of the scars that ran from knee up along one tanned leg. He tried not to imagine the soft fabric of the kilt that hid the rest of her leg from view, or the way she'd curled her fingers in the short hair at the nape of his neck as they'd trekked the desert.

She'd smelled of rosewater. He took a deep breath, the slight moldy tang of the hold not enough to drive the scent from his memory. He wanted to brush the short strands of her ruddy hair from her face, tuck them behind her ears before he molded his lips to hers. He closed his eyes, lips twitching into a self-indulgent smile as he imagined how she would respond. Would she whimper under his touch like she had in the sun? A helpless, needy whimper as she buried her face in his neck?

He let a shuddering breath escape him as he stretched his legs out in front of him. He was already lost in his own powerful imagination, the feel of her breath against his skin as vivid as if it was a fortnight ago. It took only a little leap to imagine her lips curving into the smile she wore only for him as she slid from her bodice, that wicked gleam in her eyes as she shimmied out of the kilt and boots, leaving her chemise behind.

Her tattoo glimmered in the darkness of the room, illuminating the soft cotton of her chemise, and one of his hands, rough with callouses, reached out to stroke her side. She leaned into it with a sigh, her lower lip between her teeth as she watched him in concentration. He'd seen her do it countless times as she was lost in thought, and it was easy to imagine it now, even as he imagined the flicker of pink tongue wetting her lips as she looked him over. (She had a bad habit of licking her lips as she sighted a rifle. Not that he'd noticed.)

His other hand ghosted over lean, muscular legs as she straddled his waist, her weight a familiar memory as she leaned forward to press her lips against his, hungry for his kiss and his touch. Imagination was enough to get him started, and he felt himself press against the fabric of his trousers, a guilty ache that would not be ignored. A hand fumbled with the buttons, clumsy and shaking, until he could draw himself forth as he sank once more into his thoughts.

His hand was hers, exploring the nest of curls at the base of his length, teasing with the pads of her fingers as her lips roamed the expanse of his chest. Her eyes gazed at him through the messy fringe that fell in her face, and his hand brushed it back as a low groan rumbled up from his chest. She stroked upward with a practiced, easy movement, and his hips gave a half-thrust against her fingers as she smiled at him. She slid forward, the length of her body a delicious friction as she stretched out beside him, cupping his head as she pressed a kiss along his jaw.

He stroked himself, the thought of her lips against him sending a full-body shudder through him. She would be warm, so warm, glorious heat and dampness as he parted the curls at the juncture of her thighs, his fingers seeking, seeking –

His release was sudden, a surprise to him, and he cupped his fingers beneath it, desperate to keep it from his clothing as he stuttered through it. His jaw clenched hard, and he hissed a breath through his teeth as he relaxed his straining muscles.

He looked around him, reaching for one of the spare flour bags to clean up. Shame washed over him as he scrubbed his hands on the burlap, his gut clenching at the knowledge of what he'd just done. He rinsed his hands with his canteen for good measure, wiping them dry on another sack and righting his clothing. He was an idiot. He knew he was, and yet he still lusted after her. She would be queen soon, and she would marry an important noble she probably hated in order to beget noble children to carry on the line after her.

He was already lost, so far in over his head that he could touch bottom. He saw her everywhere, whether she was there or not, and when she had needed someone, there had been only him to rescue her. Wasn't that how the stories went? The dashing soldier saves the princess and they lived happily ever after?

It never occurred to him that the revolution would fail. She would never allow it, after all. Either way, he would lose her. He never had her in the first place. He put his face in his hands, a jumble of thoughts yammering at him at once.

"Ben?" Her voice cut through the darkness of the hold, as did the dim glow of her tattoo. He jumped, huddling back against the flour sacks as she called for him. Dare he show his face to her now?

She would know. She was a Hero, and a Will user at that. She could read his mind, if the stories were true. She would set him on _fire_, his mind gibbered at him. Maybe if he stayed hidden…

"Ben? I know you're back here. I've already searched through the rest of the ship for you. I really hope you didn't fall overboard, because that would be rather embarrassing for me."

He gave a silent sigh. Well, he had been saying for months that she'd be the death of him. Burning was likely less painful than whatever Walter could devise to do to him, anyway.

"I'm back here," he said, shoving the soiled sacks underneath the others. "I must have fallen asleep."

"Anything to get away from Walter's snoring, eh?" she said, rounding the box he was sitting behind and taking a seat next to him. "It's quiet here. I like the way you think, Ben."

Ben swallowed. "You do?"

"I also know what you did." She gave him a small smile in the dim light from her tattoo, far too close for his liking. He reasoned she wouldn't set him on fire that close, however. "Everyone knows."

"E-everyone?" he said, his head spinning. Had she told the entire crew? "I'm sure that gossip doesn't spread that fast."

"It's a small ship. Everyone knows by now," she said, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. He really didn't need to see that, and he tried not to focus on it. He tried reciting the names of cities he'd been to in his head, to drown out the thoughts that skittered across the surface of his brain. She would light him like a pagan pyre if she knew.

"I swear I had no intention of acting on it, I was just – "

Her lips cut him off, pressing him against the rough wood of the crate. His surprised intake of air was swallowed by the groan that bubbled up, and he met her enthusiasm with his own, his hands going to her waist to draw her closer to him. She was sweet with dark spice, tasting of the cinnamon she'd put in her porridge that morning. An undercurrent of something else he couldn't define with his exploration eluded him; he decided that it was just her, that it tasted like Ellie, and that was quite all right with him.

He drank his fill of her until breathy sips of air were not enough, breaking the kiss to suck in a lungful of air. She wasted no time, straddling his hips and placing more kisses along his throat and jaw. He readjusted his back against the crates, meeting her mouth with his own as his hands wandered to the small of her back, her breathy sigh of appreciation spurring him on.

"Your highness?" Walter's voice rang through the cargo hold, and his head appeared in the doorway. "Did you find that sluggard?"

"Damn," Ellie gave a soft curse against his lips, sitting back. He rested his hands on her hips, giving a gentle squeeze as she called out to Walter. "No, I didn't find him down here. I was just about to come back up."

"Good, we're about an hour out of the port at Bowerstone, your highness. We'll need to make battle plans."

"I'll be there in a moment, Walter. Tell them not to start without me, all right?"

"As you wish. I'll keep looking for Ben." Heavy footsteps receded away from the doorway, and Ben let out the breath he was holding in a whoosh of air. Ellie laughed.

"We _will_ continue this later, Benjamin Finn, don't you worry." She leaned down to brush her lips against his mouth, then his nose, before rising off of him. "You have my word. I owe you for carrying me out of that hellish desert."

"I look forward to it," he said, feeling like his face would crack from the grin on it. He was relieved that she had meant his rescue, and not what had just happened before she found him. She helped him up, and he drew her close for a slow kiss of his own. "Definitely."

_All in all_, he reasoned as he followed her back up to the deck with a small smile, _that went far better than expected_.

* * *

A/N: Naughty, naughty Ben. Good thing Ellie's been after him for a while now.


	6. Vive la Revolution

Chapter Six: Vive la Revolution

* * *

_That's all you could say to her, you daft idiot? 'Good luck in there, I hope the crown fits?' Good job, you smarmy bastard, now she'll think you were just after her for the title._

He scrubbed his hands over his gritty eyes, trying to get the feel of gunpowder from beneath his eyelids. He was so tired, the fight up to Bowerstone Castle a struggle of sheer will as Logan's forces pressed them at every turn. He was weary to the bone, and he slumped against the inner wall in exhaustion as the banner went up to the sounds of raucous cheering from the rebels.

The day was theirs, and the bloodshed would be worth it, because she was on the throne. He slid to a sitting position, the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes. Would she still speak to him after this? There was the Crawler to think of, surely, but what about…

No, he should take it at face value. She was interested in him, but only because she had not been exposed to the rest of the world as the Queen yet. She would find someone else to warm her bed and her fascination with one Ben Finn would be a thing of the past, something for him to lie awake at night and ponder, alone.

She would find a noble, one that matched her in the color of her blood and met with Walter's stern approval. His heart argued with him that her blood was the same color as everyone else's – he had seen her bleed enough, he thought with a twist to his gut. His brain told his heart in no uncertain terms to bugger off. She was far too invested in the fate of the kingdom now for the likes of him. He snorted, his hands draping between his knees as he watched the surrender of Logan's forces, Sabine marching down their ranks as Page collected their weapons. No, she'd been too invested in the fate of the kingdom before they'd even met.

She'd never been for the likes of him.

A shadow crossed his vision and he looked up to find Walter glaring at him. Great, as if he weren't depressed enough already. Walter's eyes narrowed further as he regarded Ben in silent appraisal. Ben was too tired to even have the urge to squirm under the gaze, meeting the look dead on.

"Hello, Walter," he said, resigned to the angry litany he was about to receive.

"There you are," he said, folding his arms. "Been looking for you."

"Well, you've found me. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company on this fine, victorious afternoon, Sir Walter?"

"Shut up, Ben. She wants you on the balcony in an hour, when we do the ceremony."

"The ceremony?" His wits had dulled in the aftermath of combat. The ringing in his ears must have affected his hearing.

"Yes, lack wit, the ceremony. You know, the one where we crown the new Queen of Albion? Avo's teeth, boy, did you hit your head?" Walter shook his head, exasperated. "She wants her advisors on the balcony. Don't ask me why you're included, but she seems to think highly of you."

She did, did she? A spark of thin hope lit in his mind. "All right, then. I'll get cleaned up."

"See that you do. We start in an hour." Walter spun on his heel and went to speak with Page and Sabine.

Ben rose, the ache in his muscles gone in an instant as he stretched. She wanted him there, which had to count for something. He walked to the guard barracks, whistling in the smoky air; air that tasted like a bright future for Albion. His mind was awhirl with the possibilities, but the nagging voice in the back of his head told him not to get his hopes up.

He washed and dressed in a crisp new captain's uniform rummaged from the barracks, the sleeves a little too long and the waistcoat a little bulky in the back. He even took a razor to himself, the thick stubble he'd been sporting vanishing under the hot water and soap. Under the circumstances, he would say he cleaned up rather well. He hoped so, anyway. It wasn't every day you crowned a new Queen.

Soldiers were surrendering across the city as he walked through the streets of Bowerstone's Old Quarter, picking his way through the rubble to the imposing walls of the castle. The townsfolk were peering through their shutters, the houses that weren't ruined huddling along the broken streets like the worn teeth of a saw. He frowned.

She would make it right, he knew. He had faith in her to make the right decisions. He straightened his shoulders as he arrived at the castle, the guard saluting and pulling the twisted gates open. He slipped through, tugging the cuffs of his shirt up, and looked around.

Logan's men stood under guard, their hands bound behind their backs as they looked on. They shot him dirty looks as he strode past, but he wasn't sure if it was Logan's indoctrination or actual dislike of the city guard that fueled it. He ignored them, mounting the steps to the castle as the doors opened. Walter met him at the door, ushering him to the balcony that overlooked the courtyard. Everyone else was there, Page and Sabine talking with Kalin while a crowd began to form in the courtyard below.

A prim and proper butler showed him to his place, introducing himself as Jasper. He had a dry sense of humor, but didn't judge Ben based on his station, which the soldier appreciated.

"You know, her highness speaks quite highly of you," he said, looking out at the crowd. Ben joined him at the balcony, his hands flat on the railing.

"She does?" He had heard it from Walter, but from Ellie's personal butler, it seemed more real. "I wasn't aware."

"Oh, yes," said Jasper, shooting him an oblique glance. "The only one I've heard her talk about like this was Elliot, Avo rest his spirit."

"Elliot?" he asked.

"Princess Eleanor was quite enamored with a young nobleman by the name of Elliot. The final straw of her stay here in the castle was when Logan made her choose – her lover or her people. He was going to execute the protestors who were unhappy with his rule, and when she spoke up, he decided to make an example." Jasper's voice was ripe with distaste. "She said goodbye to Elliot that day, and he was executed forthwith by Logan's guard."

"That's…horrible," Ben closed his eyes, unable to imagine the pain that Ellie must have gone through.

"She never quite got over the blow, until one day she came to the Sanctuary and spoke to me of a group of rebels, led by a Major Swift and an astonishing young man by the name of Captain Benjamin Finn. The look on her face made me very curious to meet you, young man."

His breath caught. "She speaks that well of me? I don't think I should deserve the honor."

"You _were_ the one who carried her from the desert after the Crawler attack with your own two hands, were you not?" Jasper arched an eyebrow at him.

"Well, yes, I – "

"And didn't you protect her during the flight from Bowerstone to Aurora, watching her back, as they say?"

"Yes, but – "

"And you managed to rally the troops after Major Swift's death in order to support this jolly little revolution, didn't you?"

"All I did was tell them I was going to fight, no matter their decision," Ben said, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

"Yet they rallied behind you, didn't they? You became as much of a symbol of the revolution as the Princess herself. You might not think you have done much, but the Princess thinks of you as one of her closest confidants. Trust me, she is an excellent judge of character." Jasper sniffed. "She's not been wrong yet."

"Then I suppose I had better keep bumbling along as I have been," Ben said, his voice acid with self-deprecation. "I'm doing _so_ well so far."

"You've managed to capture the eye of a particularly special young woman," said Jasper, his smile no longer frosty. "I rather think you're doing well for yourself."

Ben snorted. "I suppose you're right."

Motion at the back of the balcony had them scrambling for their places. Walter entered, carrying the crown of Albion in front of him as though he were afraid he might break it. Ben straightened, standing at a parade rest while the guards bustled about, preparing for the Queen's arrival.

She entered, and a fanfare started from somewhere that was drowned out by the cheering of the crowd. He tried not to gape, the frilled confection she was wearing not at all suited to her, and yet suiting her to perfection. Lace peeked from behind metal plating on the bodice she wore, the high collar accenting the dipping neckline of the gown. She lifted her skirts and moved forward, as at-ease in the heavy garment as she was in her kilt and high boots. She strode between her advisors, Page and Sabine bowing low, Kalin inclining her head to the new monarch.

She passed him, catching his eye, and he gave her a cheeky wink as he swept into a low bow, smiling as he heard her chuckle. He looked up to see the regal mask drop into place as Walter stepped forward with the crown. He lifted it, with another swelling roar of approval, and placed it on Ellie's head, nestling it in the shock of impudent red hair.

"All hail the new Queen of Albion," Walter shouted, throwing his hand out to encompass the crowd as she stepped forward, her spine straight and her chin high.

Ben saw that the crown fit her well, indeed.

* * *

A/N: The King is deposed, long live the Queen. As you can probably tell by now, I've been writing in snippets as we go along. Still more to go~


	7. Trial and Error

Chapter Seven: Trial and Error

* * *

For the first time since Major Swift's death, Ben came face to face with Logan. It was not a happy reunion, to say the least. Ben began pacing back and forth between the dais and the roped-off section of the court for onlookers and petitioners. Logan watched him with an unreadable expression, his dark eyes following Ben as he moved.

Ben stopped, glaring at the deposed king. "What?"

Logan shrugged as well as he could with his hands bound behind his back. "You should be happier to have pulled me from my throne, Captain Finn."

"Good men died because of a tyrant's whim, Logan." Ben gave a half-step forward. "And I am happy, you know. The Queen will make the right judgment, I'm sure of it."

"You expect Eleanor to bow to your whims, Captain Finn?" Logan snorted, his nostrils flaring in amusement. "My sister is far more headstrong than you know. She will decide based on her will, and her will alone."

"She will, and she'll lop off your head, because it's the right thing to do!" His fists clenched. "Do you have any idea how long we've worked for this? What we went through to make this succeed? Of course you don't, _Your Majesty._ It would stagger you to know the sacrifices we have made to see you gone."

"My sister is still just that, Captain. My sister. Ties of blood run deep, even if our political ideas run the gamut of extremes. What I did, I did to save Albion. Eleanor will understand, in time, when the world crumbles around her as she tries to keep from tearing the kingdom apart. But she will not kill me, not even if you would wish it so."

Ben snarled, stepping forward and gripping Logan's breastplate. The monarch looked down his nose at him, scarred lips curling into a sneer as Ben gave him a violent shake. He released Logan, pushing him away so that he lost his balance, stumbling back to his place by the dais. Ben turned burning eyes on Logan, his hand going to the pistol at his hip. "You _will_ die for your crimes, Your Majesty. Even if I have to shoot you myself, I'll gladly hang for the chance to do it."

Logan straightened, the sneer never leaving his lips. "We shall see."

"Yes," Ben said, turning away as the other petitioners began to file into the room. "We will."

"The Queen of Albion enters. All rise." Walter's voice rang out over the crowd, and a hush fell over the room. Ellie strode up the aisle past the crowd, dressed in her kilt, swordsman's shirt and high boots once again. The crown shone burnished gold against her hair, and she settled herself on the throne with care, looking as if she felt she didn't belong there. "Your first decision as Queen, Your Majesty, is to decide the fate of your brother, Logan."

Ellie locked eyes with Logan, who met her stare with one of his own. Ben stepped forward, knowing that he was the petitioner for this case, and her decision would be based on what he said.

"His Former Majesty stands accused of murder and tyranny, oppressing the people of Albion to the point of civil unrest," Walter said, his voice carrying over the crowd. Hisses and jeers were heard, but quieted as he continued speaking. "Sabine, Kalin, Page, and Captain Benjamin Finn of the Swift Brigade will present their case."

The others pressed their causes, Page being the voice of reason in the tumult. At last, all eyes turned to him, and he, true to form, spat the first thing that came to mind.

"Look, I'm not one for lopping people's heads off, but we all saw Major Swift executed like a bloody circus act. He deserves nothing less as far as I'm concerned." He stalked across the dais to point a finger at Logan, his eyes blazing as he glared at him. The roar of the crowd swelled in approval, the jeering getting loud enough to cause Walter to rap his sheathed sword on the floor for order.

"Do you have anything to say in your defense, Logan?" Walter asked. Ellie remained silent, her fingers steepled before her face as her brows drew down in thought. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, the motion making her jaw twitch.

"I had good reason for the 'crimes' you say I committed. The day I was crowned, I had a visit – from a blind Seer. Theresa was her name, and she was our father's guide. She showed me the darkness that was to envelop our lands and destroy our very way of life. I made the choices I did to save Albion."

Ben saw his vision begin to go red at the edges as Logan continued, and he fisted his hands at his sides as he stood next to the throne, Sabine, Page and Kalin standing with him. They had said their piece as well, and all faces were grim as the former monarch spoke.

"Eleanor – Your Majesty – you saw what the Crawler did to Aurora. If a few had to suffer, it was to build an army. If a few had to die, it was to save a country. I have spent _years_ preparing for this attack. Let me fight at your side now, and I can promise a reserve of at least five thousand soldiers loyal to me. Let us face the coming darkness, together."

Walter's face was stern. "If this is true, if it's really coming here…then we are all in grave danger. Only you can decide Logan's fate, Your Majesty."

There was silence in the room for a long moment. Ben could hear his own breathing, harsh in his ears. At long last, Ellie drew in a deep breath to speak.

"There has been enough bloodshed in the streets to last a lifetime, Logan. I tire of death. That does not, however, mean that I forgive you your trespasses against the people of Albion and against me. And so," she said, rising to her feet and walking to the steps to meet him in the eye, "I shall mitigate your sentence. Your life will be spared, and you will aid us in the defense of Albion against this darkness. After such time as the defense of our borders is no longer needed, you are to be exiled for the rest of your natural life, your lands, titles, and other properties reverting back to the crown."

"No!" Ben shouted, striding forward. His pistol was in his hand in a blink, his chest heaving as he pointed it at Logan. Onlookers screamed and parted like water, even as Walter stepped up to intercept him.

They all froze as the queen spoke again. She stood, unmoving, her back to him; her tone was frosty, the thick ice over Bowerstone Lake in winter snapping from her words. "Captain Finn, you will holster your pistol and leave the throne room."

"Your Majesty, you cannot allow this tyrant to walk free!" He shot her a desperate glance, his finger off the trigger even as he pointed the pistol at Logan still. "He deserves naught but death!"

She did not face him. "Captain Finn, you were given a direct order. Be glad that my brother's laws for treason were rendered null and void, for I could have you shot twice over. Holster your pistol and leave the throne room, or I will have Walter strip you of your rank and commission here and now."

He swallowed, his hand shaking as he lowered the pistol and replaced it in his belt. "As…as Your Majesty commands."

He made his way on wobbly legs down the dais, his face carefully neutral. As he passed Logan, the scarred lips lifted in a smile. "I did warn you not to get your hopes up, Captain Finn. Blood runs thicker than lust, even for royalty."

Ben whirled, his hand snapping to his pistol, the weapon in his hand a blur as he brought the butt of the weapon down hard on the base of Logan's neck. Logan crumpled, and Ben felt himself hooked under the armpits as Walter and another soldier hefted him bodily and dragged him from the throne room. Logan rose on shaky legs, turning to sneer at Ben. Ellie's gaze fixed on Ben for a moment, but she turned away, returning to her seat as her seneschal stepped forward with the next item of business.

He struggled against Walter's grip only a moment, his eyes locked with Ellie's. As she returned to the throne, he felt the last of the fight in him flee, and he went limp in his captor's hands. They marched him down the hall, tossing him into a private parlor and locking the door behind them. He rose from the floor after a moment, stumbling to one of the ornate couches and sitting, his head clutched in his hands.

_She said she would do what was right, and yet she spares her murdering brother?_ The thought rankled, touching a dark place inside him that made his lips twist. He knew, deep down, that she had her reasons, but to see Logan's face devolve into that grateful smile when she granted him leniency was too much. He had killed Swift, just as sure as if he had pulled the trigger with his own hand.

He didn't know how long he sat there with his traitorous thoughts before he heard the sound of the key wiggling in the latch plate. He looked up, expecting to see a guardsman, and was surprised to see Walter himself enter the room instead. The knight looked him over for a brief moment before he closed the door behind him. It wasn't the usual glare, but a soft look of understanding as he stood with his back against the door.

"You did wrong, boy," Walter said. Ben's eyes slid to the side, his mouth a mutinous scowl. "But you did it for the right reason."

"He should pay for what he did to Swift, Walter. You and I know that." Ben made no move to stand, his hands dangling limp between his knees. He was so tired, the fight in him burning out as quick as it had ignited. "She never knew him, but he served her as valiantly as any of us. She's _wrong_, Walter."

"No, boy, she's the Queen. Her decisions are made with the best counsel we can offer, but we will never tell her she's wrong – at least in public, like you did." His face was stern, fixing him with a solid stare. "It's not our place to correct and question the Queen. We only offer our advice and hope for the best, and if we really don't like the decision, we tell her in private."

The knight pushed off from where he leaned against the door. He sat across from Ben, hands braced on his knees. "You're still thinking like a revolutionary, Ben. What do you think the public saw when you defied the Queen? Days after we stage a revolution to put her on the throne, one of her own advisors tries to overthrow her decision, taking her first judgment, her first act as Queen, into his own hands. He then publically defies her orders and strikes a man she's declared spared from punishment until one year hence."

"Exile is too good for that tyrant," Ben said with a shake of his head.

"You're still not _listening, _boy. The Queen did what she did for several reasons, one of which is that Logan is the only family she has left. Another is that five thousand troops, already trained, is a huge boost to Albion's army." Walter slashed a hand in the air. "Despite what you and I think, she's bound and determined to not follow the same path Logan would. She refuses to become the tyrant."

Ben glared at the floor, but made no answer.

"We have to show _solidarity_ in this time of unrest, Ben. You know this. You of all people should know this." Walter ran a hand through his greying hair, letting out a sigh. "But I've kept you long enough. She wants to speak to you."

Ben looked up. "She does?"

"You'd best hurry. It sounded like an order, Captain." Walter fixed him with a stern look. "Don't go off half-cocked – she has her reasons for everything."

Ben rose, letting out a shaky breath. "Aye, sir."

* * *

A/N: Someone's in trouble. Uh-oh.


	8. Punishment

Chapter Eight: Punishment

* * *

She was staring out the window of the study as he entered, her back to him. Her hands rested on the sill; long, delicate fingers tapped against the stone in an irregular rhythm. He shut the door behind him with a soft click, and she turned, her dark eyes meeting his light blue ones with an angry intensity.

"Captain Finn. Did Walter keep you overlong?"

"No, he didn't." He flinched at the use of his rank rather than his name. He'd always been Ben to her before.

"Do you have an issue with my rule?" she asked.

"What? No, I – "

"I think you do. Why else would you ignore my orders in court today, unless you wanted to show me that even a monarch you approved of was not the leader you wanted? You could have saved me a lot of time and heartache." She began to pace the floor, legs flashing in the afternoon sunlight. The scar on her leg stood out, a pale pucker of skin against the light tan of her time spent outdoors.

"You were _wrong_, Ellie!" he burst out, his face darkening with a scowl as she whirled on him, eyes blazing. "You watched him execute Major Swift, you _know_ what kind of man he is!"

"He is my brother!" Her voice rose to a shout, and she took a step towards him, her hand flung wide to encompass the portrait above the mantel, a family affair with the king and queen and the young siblings painted in lifelike detail. "I am imminently capable of telling you what kind of a man he is!"

"Your brother was a tyrant who turned Bowerstone Industrial over to Reaver! A deviant sluggard who cares nothing for his workforce save to shoot them when it pleases him! He employs children in dangerous factory work, for little pay, because they have no choice!"

"He taught me how to use a sword at the age of ten! He bought me my first pistol before he took the throne, when I was fourteen! Before Walter, Logan was the one who taught me how to fight." She slashed her hand through the air, her tattoo glowing white hot in her anger.

"He's taxed the people to poverty, and more beggars than ever starve and die in the streets." Ben shook his head, refusing to back down. "He condemned Aurora to die, Ellie!"

"He held me when my mother died, Ben. He held me and promised me he would make it better." Tears ran down her cheeks now, and she scrubbed the away with a furious palm. "He's the only brother I have. It hurts enough just to send him away."

"Ellie…" He took a half-step forward, but she spun away from him and stalked back to the window.

"If I could give up the crown and bring back every life ever taken by my brother's mistakes, I would do it in a heartbeat. If I could wave my hand and restore everything to the way it should be, Ben, I would do it." She let out a breath and rested her head against the glass of the window. "But I can't. All I can do is stop more death from happening."

She turned to him, her eyes haunted. "I would give up the crown, everything we struggled and starved for, in a second to bring them back."

"You mean Elliot."

And there it was.

The accusation hung in the open, freezing the air and causing her back to stiffen in anger. Her eyes narrowed.

"Don't ever speak of him again. You have no right."

His mouth dropped open. "No right? After what happened on the ship back from Aurora, I think I have _some_ right, at least. Or am I just a rebound, someone to slap some ointment on Your Majesty's wounded pride?"

"Perhaps that was a mistake. I didn't think you would care so much, what with all your stories."

"Funny thing, that. I didn't think I would, either." He folded his arms. "So I _was_ just a rebound."

"Oh? You think you know so much about it, do you?" she asked, hands fisting at her sides. "You know all about the surges of jealousy when you'd flirt with Page, that I'd keep quiet about because I thought that was just how you were. The thought that you weren't interested because I was the princess, or because I was a Hero, or maybe because you didn't like redheads kept me from saying anything. Chapter fifteen corrected me of that last one, but still."

His mouth tightened as he resisted the urge to flinch at the mention of his book.

"You blame me for still loving Elliot? I will love Elliot till the day I die, and nothing could change that. Just as I will love my brother until the day I die. I can't just…turn that off. It's not a flit switch."

She made a vague, helpless gesture, something out of character for her. He swallowed his anger, the sight of her confused and angry doing things to his natural instincts he would never admit in front of Walter. He wanted to sweep her up and kiss her hair, assuring her it would be all right. She was wounded, and he wanted to fix it, somehow. He wanted to hurt the one who had done this to her, and he kicked himself when he realized it was his fault, if only partially so.

He couldn't help himself. "And me?"

She regarded him with a long stare for a moment before walking toward him, her stride predatory. He had never thought on how tall she actually was until she took his face in her hands and tilted it up the few inches she needed to look him in the eye. They were nose to nose, breath mingling with an electricity in the room that had nothing to do with the magical gauntlets she wore but made the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end regardless.

"You, Captain Benjamin Finn, are the most infuriating man on the face of Albion, and I will still love you till the day the sun spins us into oblivion."

Her mouth slanted over his, insistent, and he obliged, his hand coming up to curl at the back of her neck, his palm fitting the curve of her neck with the precision of his flint striking the frizzen. He traced her lip with his tongue before delving into her mouth, her sigh swallowed by his hungry kiss as his other palm slid down her side to grab her hip and bring it flush with his. Her fingers slid up to lace into his hair, the pads of her fingers sending a small thrill down his spine. He broke the kiss, growling, and nipped at the pulse that fluttered in her throat, relishing in the small moan that was just for him in this intense moment.

Ellie's eyes slid closed, the angry glow of the tattoo fading into bluish warmth that enveloped them as he lavished her jaw and throat with small, teasing kisses. Her hands slid from his hair to his chest, struggling against the buttons of his dress vest as she tried to work them free. She managed one, and he placed his hand over hers, stopping her. She made a frustrated noise and pulled back to look at him.

"I want you to be sure, Ellie." He hated himself, but he needed this from her.

"I am." She wriggled her fingers underneath his, managing to part the fabric of his vest and stroke a single fingertip down the soft cotton of his shirt. "More sure of this than anything I have ever done."

It was enough. He kissed her again, his hands replacing hers as he undid the baldric at his back, his sword clattering free with his haste. The belt was next, and he dropped it into a careless heap at the door, his palms scrabbling for the latch plate to turn the key and give them more privacy. He felt the delicate brass key snap in the lock, and he swore, much to Ellie's amusement.

"Relax." She placed a kiss on the skin where his jaw met his ear, and he shuddered, the real thing making his imagination pale in comparison. "They know to leave us be."

"Nothing like a little extra insurance," Ben said, tossing away the useless key. "I'll fix it later."

"Good." She pulled him away from the door, leading him toward the couch that sat before the fireplace. It was a plush affair, wide enough for the two of them to curl up on, if a little short. She pushed him down upon it, straddling his hips as she had before. "I believe I told you we would continue this later on the boat."

He grinned up at her, resting his arms along the back of the couch. "And I told you I was looking forward to it."

"Yes, you did," she said, her voice a low purr that he'd never heard before. He swallowed, wetting his lips as she settled herself in his lap, her fingers nimble now as she undid his vest. It parted beneath her fingers like waves in front of a ship, and he sat up so that she could work it off his shoulders, stealing a kiss as she did. His fingers ran through her hair, and the crown tumbled from her head, landing with a muted thump on the plush carpet.

"Oh, no," he said, breaking away to retrieve it.

"_Later_," she said, pinning him in place beneath her. She nipped at his lower lip, tugging on it with gentle persuasion. He sighed against her mouth, running his hands along her sides as she released his lip, his fingers trailing small circles along the ties that webbed through her corset.

"But I was so looking forward to talking you into keeping the crown and the boots on," he said, smirking at her as her eyes widened.

"Thought about this a lot, have you?" she asked. Her fingers were slipping the buttons of his shirt free, ever mindful of her ultimate goal. She licked her lips in the exact way she had when she was concentrating on sighting her rifle, and Ben bit back a low whimper at the sight, because finally, _finally_, it was for him. He wriggled a bit underneath her, her hips moving with him as she readjusted. Her fingers never left his buttons, pulling his shirt free from where it was tucked into his trousers when she reached the end of them.

"I could tell you I haven't, but I'm a terrible liar," he said, the smirk still on his face as she regarded him with a thoughtful look. "I'm all for a bit of role-play."

"Are you, now? I don't remember any of this being in your book." She sat back, her rump brushing against him with just enough pressure to make him buck his hips against her. She gave a wicked smirk of her own and rolled her hips against him, creating a delicious friction that was hard to ignore.

"E-Ellie, you'll need to stop that." He grit his teeth as he felt himself harden further with her attention. "I want to enjoy this, sweetheart."

Her eyes softened at his admission, and she bent down to retrieve the crown from where it glinted on the carpet. She lifted the burnished gold circlet to her head and placed it on her head again, nestling it in her reddish curls. He reached up and twined a strand of impish red around his forefinger, giving a gentle tug as he smiled at her.

"You're the worst kind of pervert, Captain Finn," she said, the affection in her voice softening her words. "But I like it."

"Oh, sweetheart, you say the nicest things." She leaned down to kiss him, the mood spiraling down from frantic to an unhurried exploration as he worked the ties of her bodice free. She shimmied out of it, the garment dropping to the floor behind her as she sat back up, each wriggle of her hips a small shock of sensation in his lap. She spread wide the parted cloth of his shirt, fingertips brushing across the forest of crisp blond curls that covered his chest, the thick patch of hair narrowing to a trail that disappeared under the waistband of his trousers.

He paused as she did, her lip between her teeth as she looked him over. Self-conscious, he cleared his throat.

"Erm, all Finns are a little furry," he said, by way of lame explanation. "Mum always swore we were part balverine."

She snorted, her fingers smoothing through the hair on his chest, her blunted nails combing it aside for her exploration. She smiled as his breathing deepened, drawing her nails down his chest again.

"I like it," she said, her voice that low purr again. "Very manly."

He let out a whoosh of breath that made her laugh, and she pushed the shirt off his shoulders so that she could get at his shoulders. She planted a line of feathered kisses from his ear to his neck, giving him a gentle bite on his shoulder that she soothed with the flicker of pink tongue. He freed his arms from his shirt, cupping a breast through her shift as she moved back to his ear again, nipping at the lobe.

"It seems I'm a little overdressed," she murmured in his ear, and he could only nod, his fingers tugging on the belt that kept the kilt secured to her hips. "Let me fix that."

She pulled her gauntlets off, tucking them under the couch before standing before him. He watched, his heart hammering in his chest, as she undid the belt around her waist with agonizing slowness. It came undone, and the kilt fluttered to the ground to pool at her feet in a pile of soft plaid as she dropped the belt to the floor to join it. She lifted her hands to the ties of her shift, the puddle of silken fabric joining the plaid.

He almost swallowed his tongue. She stood before him, bare save her boots, the crown, and a small triangle of fabric that could hardly be called knickers covering the soft curls that graced her sex. She smiled at him as she linked her thumbs in the band of her underthings, turning as she shimmied out of them.

A low groan rumbled up from his chest that he didn't hear as he took in the sight of her, bared for him as she bent over to step out of the last stitch of her clothing. His hand slid down to palm himself through his trousers, already hard and aching at the thought of delving through her folds, and she _tsk_ed at him, wagging a finger as she looked over her shoulder at him.

"None of that, Captain. I'll be the one to do that, thank you very much." She prowled toward him, pert breasts swaying within reach as she leaned over him to capture his mouth again. His calloused hand slid over one of them, and she gave a small whine of approval as he teased her to a pebbled peak with a brush of his thumb. Her hands slid down his chest, over the silvered line of a scar on his stomach, and paused at the waistband of his trousers. She slid the buttons free, her hands delving for his aching length, and he hissed at the first touch of her soft fingers.

She broke the lazy kiss, her smile broad, and stroked him once as he tossed his head back on the couch, his eyes closing at the sensation. The weight of her left his legs and he looked up to see her settling between his knees.

"Sweethea–" The words were lost in a growl as she freed him from the confines of his trousers at last and her tongue traced a slow line up his shaft, dark eyes locked on his. He felt himself quiver in her hands, the inquisitive fingers managing to find the spots that would bring him to his knees, had he been standing. Nails scraped through the nest of curls that surrounded him, and he arched against her touch, a strangled noise in the back of his throat as he bit his lip to keep from spilling his release right there.

One of his hands gripped the arm of the couch, the other was fisted in his discarded shirt, and he unwound his fingers from the fabric to curl in her hair again, the sight of the crown on her head another piece of the erotic puzzle. He placed a shaky hand against her cheek, and she paused.

"Come here, sweetheart."

She obliged, sliding over his aching erection as she went, the soft curls of her sex against him making him grit his teeth in concentration. He settled her on his lap again, leaning her on her knees against his chest so that her hips were elevated. She understood his intent and guided his hand to her between their bodies. His long, clever fingers dipped into her folds, and even as she gave a low keen at the contact, he marveled at how slick she already was.

The first tentative stroke down her wetness had her wriggling against him, and so encouraged, he explored her, adding a slow circling motion when he found the small bundle of nerves. That earned him another bite on the shoulder and a shuddering sigh. He _liked_ that sigh. He hummed in delight and continued, circling her entrance with a finger before making a slow, tortuous insertion. She sighed again, a small whimper and a whispered invocation of his name spurring him on as he withdrew from her and entered again, curling his finger on the exit stroke to send her shuddering against him.

"Oh, _Ben_," she sighed, fingers clamping against his shoulder and curling in his chest hair as he did it again, speeding his thrust and adding a second finger, stretching her for him. "I need…"

"You need what, Ellie?" His voice was husky in his own ears, but she quivered against his chest at the sound, arching herself against him in abandon. "Tell me."

"I want you, you great oaf," she said, nipping him on the chin. "You know what I want."

"Ah, but it's so much more fun to make you tell me." He thrust his fingers inside again, feeling her clench around him as she whimpered against his throat. "Tell me."

"I – I want you inside me." She nipped at his neck, her hands tightening their hold as she rocked against his hand. "I want you – _ah_! – right there –"

He slid his fingers from her, and she arched back in disappointment. He took himself in hand, positioning himself against her slick folds and tracing a teasing line up and down. She buried her face in his shoulder and arched backward, making him hiss at her eagerness. He slid inside her entrance, pausing as he adjusted to the tight fit of her, the velvety softness of her sheath. He only had a moment before she arched backward, sitting up and hilting him within her in a single fluid motion. She _squeezed_ on the way down, he swore she did, and he threw his head back against the couch with an oath as she settled on top of him.

"Avo's teeth, woman, are you trying to kill me?" he growled, hands on her hips as she settled around him, all warmth and tight wetness. She tried to look smug, but he nipped that in the bud as he rocked his hips upward, brushing his hips against her sex. She let out a small whine and met his thrust, her lip clutched between her teeth as she slid downward against him. He let her go, his hands leaving marks that he was sure would bruise later, but for now, he was simply trying to keep up. She rose above him, illuminated by the setting sun pouring in the windows, her skin glowing rosy.

He ran a calloused hand down her stomach and parted her curls with his fingers as she descended again, drawing a gasp from her as she rotated her hips. He growled, his hips jittering upward as he circled her nub with deft fingers, applying a little pressure and making her squirm against his hand. She panted, her breasts heaving with the motion, and he gave her a lazy smile as he rocked his hips upward again, enjoying the sight of her reaching her peak as she rose and fell above him like a warm, cresting wave. He stroked his other hand down her thigh, squeezing her still booted calf as she rose up again, her pace getting more frantic as he strummed her with his fingers like a well-made lute.

It was intense, it was maddening, and it was more than he had ever dared to hope it could be. He felt her peak before she gave voice to it, her tight walls clenching around him as she hilted herself on him with finality, taking him deep as she unraveled in his arms. The knot of his own arousal unleashed with the keening cry she let out, and he shuddered through his release, a growling roar of triumph that turned to a satisfied hum when she collapsed against his chest, the crown slipping to the side.

She pressed her mouth against his own in possessive finality, and he stroked a calloused palm down her back as he softened within her. He righted her crown for her, shifting so that they could lie in comfortable bliss for a while. He stroked her sides, her deep, even breathing a calming influence on him, and he lay there, boneless and sated.

"If that's what I get when I keep the boots and the crown on, they're staying on every bloody time." Her voice was a sleepy murmur, and he chuckled.

"Sweetheart, you could be wearing nothing but a dreamy smile and I would still endeavor to please you to your toes. You realize I'm going to have to rewrite my whole book, right?"

She cracked open an eye. "What? Why?"

"When I write about Bloodstone, I'll have to condense the chapter down to a single sentence. '_And no woman I have ever met, nor ever will, could hold a candle to the Queen of Albion_.'" He swept a hand out, palm up, to illustrate his point.

She laughed, the sound warming him straight to his core. She planted a kiss on his sternum and rose. He was a little disappointed as he slipped from her warmth, but she moved to the sideboard and poured a glass from a decanter of water. She dipped a handkerchief in it and cleaned them both up, setting the soiled linen aside as she rested her hands on his legs. She even went so far as to right his clothing for him, before turning to her own.

He watched her, his heart in his throat as she pulled the chemise over her head, and he stopped her as he saw another scar, a jagged cut that ran between her shoulder blades, thin and silvered in the fading light. His fingers traced the old wound, and she turned her head to regard him with a soft smile.

"Bandits," she said. "They got the jump on me right outside Sabine's village, when I was just starting out. They got the first cut in, but I got the last."

He sat up, drawing her towards him. "And the one here?"

She leaned against him as he traced the jagged claw marks that scarred her left leg. "Balverines. Nasty buggers."

"I know." He clutched her to him. "Ellie, you have to be more careful."

"I know, and I am. I've been very lucky so far. The magic helps."

"Please, sweetheart."

"I promise, Ben. I'll be more careful from now on. I have a reason to be careful, after all." He kissed her hair and let her go as she reached for the rest of her clothing. They dressed in cheerful silence, the afterglow slow to fade even as twilight descended on the castle. She settled next to him on the couch, his arm around her in a comfortable embrace.

"You aren't angry anymore?" she asked. Her dark eyes were worried as she looked at him.

"I was furious, but I can see your point of view now that I've calmed down. You, madam, are a persuasive woman." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I find my will crumbling when you give me that look."

"Which look?"

"All of them."

She laughed, nuzzling into his neck. "That kind of talk will get you into trouble."

"Ooh, trouble? Does that mean more biting? Because I liked that part."

She nipped at his jaw, her grin slow. "If you're very, very good."

* * *

Walter caught up with him as he was leaving the castle. Ben grinned at him, more cheerful than he'd ever been.

"Walter."

"Ben. You look happy for someone who's just been given the dressing-down of his life," he said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. The greying moustache bristled, like a hound on a scent. Ben almost sniggered at Walter's unintentional double entendre. He made a show of straightening his baldric and stretching.

"She shouted at me a bit, but things are back to normal, I think."

"Define _normal_." Walter scowled at him.

"We've reached an understanding. I told her that I won't question her orders in public again, and she told me she wouldn't pound me into a fine paste."

Walter barked a laugh. "Good on you, boy. It's good to know that you and her majesty have an accord now."

Ben gave a small, secretive smile. "Yes, it is."

Walter was on point in an instant, scenting something more to the comment. "What have you been up to?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He grinned and sauntered away, victory going to him for once. It felt rather nice, if he were honest with himself, especially when he heard Walter's muttered expletive behind him.

"Oh _balls_. He's done something, I know it."

Victory was sweeter than he'd ever thought it would be.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so not exactly punishment. Really, Ellie, if you treat him like that every time he does wrong, he's going to start screwing up on purpose.


	9. Darkness Rising

Chapter Nine: Darkness Rising

* * *

The day the Crawler came was one that would be burned into his memory for the rest of his life. He would wake, years later, with his teeth chattering in terror as something in his dreams reached long, spindly fingers towards his eyes and mouth. The men who guarded the docks came running, their eyes rolling in their heads like frightened horses as they told wild tales of buildings that melted into shadow, hearing their loved ones screaming as the darkness overtook them. Bowerstone had been evacuated the week before.

Walter warned him that the beast would 'get into his head', but he hadn't believed him then. He calmed the men as best he could, turning them over to Kalin's medic team that had set up shop in the Industrial section of the city, tending the wounded and fearful. He didn't believe the soldiers that came in screaming, kicking as they were dragged by their squad mates.

Then the walls started melting.

Screams erupted in the medical tent as the shadows overtook the walls, pouring in from the windows. Sibilant whispers became mocking, echoing laughter as the afflicted men began to thrash in their beds, their eyes bleeding black ichor. Screams strangled in throats as the ichor gained life, choking them off with dusky hands made from the darkness itself.

"Get everyone out of here!" Ben shouted, issuing orders even as his stomach knotted. "Move, everyone, move! If the wounded can be saved, move them. If not, leave them. I won't have more men dying to this!"

Everyone rushed about, gathering supplies and helping the afflicted wounded to their feet. The whispers grew angry at this, and small, winged forms erupted from the darkness. He drew his pistol, standing his ground as he waved the last of the medics out of the door. He fired over his shoulder, his bullets piercing the shadowy imps and dissipating one with a squeal of anguish.

"Everyone get to the castle! We need to tell the queen the attack is upon us, if she doesn't already know." His heart hammered in his chest as he began to run, pelting down the cobbles as fast as his legs would carry him. He felt the fear rise, thick and cloying, as he skidded around corners and avoided pools of shadow as much as he could. Fear for himself, for bodily harm upon his person, diminished as he realized that these creatures might already be upon the castle. If that were so, there would be nowhere safe.

And Ellie would be at the heart of it, fighting for her life and for her people.

The screams around him were of fear and pain, but none of them were from the group of medics ahead of him. He had heard these screams before; they rent at his heart, for he knew their owners. Walter's hoarse shouts mixed with Ellie's cries of anguish, and Major Swift's final scream of pain caused bile to rise in his throat. He shook his head to clear it, running on.

He rounded another corner, the cobbles slick from the recent rains. His heel skidded on the wet patch, and he stumbled. He landed hard on his hands and knees, his pistol skittering out in front of him just out of his reach. Stinging pain welled up in scrapes and bruises, but he tried to scramble to his feet.

A lingering malaise surrounded him, and he realized a puddle of shadow had soaked up through the cobblestones at his feet. Darkness occluded his sight, and he struggled against the visions flashing through his fading sight. Ellie was forced to her knees, broken and sobbing, reaching out to him, her eyes torn from her face and inky blackness where the sockets were. He reached for her, only to be pulled away to see Major Swift standing before Logan, hands bound behind him. Swift seemed to look past the king to Ben, his eyes cold. Shadows gathered at his eyes as he shook his head.

"_Why didn't you save me, Ben? You were loyal until the end. What changed?"_

"What could I have done?" Ben asked. "We couldn't step up, I had Ellie with me."

"_You could have tried, boy. You could have stopped them."_ Swift began fading, his mournful look replaced with swirling shadows. _"You could have tried."_

"Swiftie!" Ben shouted, and he struggled against the darkness. "Let me go. Let me go, damn your eyes!"

The shadows paused in their coiling crawl up his arm. They seemed to shrink away at the sound of his voice, and he pulled, feeling like his limbs were trapped in the bog of Mourningwood. He tried again, tugging, but the moment was over and the shadows resumed their inexorable crawl up his arm.

"Let me _**go**_**!**" he roared, surging to his feet. The sibilant whispers shrieked in pain, and he would later swear that a bright flash of light glowed from beneath his skin. For now, he stumbled away, stooping to pick up his pistol as he picked his pace back up to a run. The weak sunlight that peeped through the clouds was blinding, but anything was better than the infernal touch of the shadowy fingers that had circled his arms and legs.

"Sod it all, hurry up," he grunted, rounding another corner with the castle looming in sight. He willed his legs to move faster, through the gates as the medics tapered off, stopping at assigned checkpoints as they fell back to the castle. His chest burned, but he still lived, and he still had a chance to warn the castle.

He kept running, and only the sight of her on the steps of the stone fortress eased his racing heart. He paused, hands on his knees as he inhaled a restoring breath. He was bent double as she reached him, and her hand on his shoulder made him start. He realized he must look wild, his clothes slashed and torn, eyes frantic, but the sight of her was far too sweet to ignore.

"Ben, what's –" Her words were swallowed by his mouth as he enveloped her in his arms and in his kiss, thankful she was still standing. The joining was desperate and harsh as he held her to him, and he released her only with the reluctance the lack of air provided. She looked into his eyes as she stroked his face in soothing circles. "It's all right. Whatever you saw, _it's not real_. I am. I'm here."

"You were dying. You all were." He scrubbed at his eyes, trying to clear the horrifying visions from his mind. "It was horrible."

He glanced at Walter and saw the disapproval in his face and stepped back with a guilty start. The cat was out of the bag now, sod it all. He clasped Ellie's hand in his own and shot a defiant look at the old knight.

To his surprise, Walter gave a nod. "Now's not the time, but you and I _will_ be discussing this later, Captain."

Ben gave a slow nod in return, knowing better than to argue. "Aye, sir."

* * *

Their return journey through Bowerstone was fraught with the screams of the soldiers driven mad and the fires that were set when someone thrashed in a panic too close to a lantern or stove. The marketplace in the distance blazed bright in the smoky air, and they muscled their way toward it, Ellie cutting a swath through the shadows. Lightning shimmered through her fingers as she descended like the wrath of the long-forgotten Avo upon the darkness that threatened to swallow the kingdom.

Crackling bolts of energy interlaced with a whipping wind pulled shadows and the curious armored constructs off their feet, drawing them into a whirling gale that smashed them into each other like a giant's playthings. He concentrated his shots, picking off the ones not hanging limp in the arms of the gale already, and each whispering scream of pain as he hit his target brought a feral grin of satisfaction to his face. Walter was fighting like the devil himself, his sword flashing as he cut down shadow upon shadow.

Ellie roared a challenge at a strange walking statue, the face blank as it descended on them. His shots ricocheted off of the worked stone chest, the whine of his bullets zinging away from their target causing him no end of frustration. The statue dropped its staff with a ringing clang against the street, breaking cobbles and causing a pulsing line of shadow to shoot towards them. They scattered, rolling away as more shadows erupted around them. He fired, Ellie's vortex of lightning drawing up the weaker shadow creatures that sought to overwhelm them.

She drew her sword, the glowing runes underneath the stylized balverine head glowing with an angry luminance as she waited for her chance, still and silent as the statue advanced upon her. He peppered the stone face with bullets, his shots still repulsed by the hard slate.

Ellie began to glow.

A white, pearlescent radiance erupted around her feet, coalescing into feathered wings etched with runes as delicate as gossamer. He couldn't look away, the brilliance blinding as she leapt into the air, bringing her sword crashing down upon the worked stone head. A ringing slice coupled with a howl of pain preceded the statue being cleft in twain. The silence left behind was deafening but brief as the whispers resumed, their chanting growing into a single voice that dripped with dark promise.

"_**Why did you do this to us? You are already dead inside. Join us in darkness.**_"

"Wh-what's that voice?" he shouted over the howling din of the shadows. "Make it stop!"

"Keep hold of yourself, Captain!" Walter shouted, fending off another shadow. "Panic feeds it!"

He tried to drown out the voice in his head by humming a marching tune, but the melody died on his lips when he heard the shadow mocking it, twisting it from something he knew into something terrible. Gritting his teeth, he followed behind Ellie and Walter as they passed over the bridge, past the pub that was aflame from the inside out, until they came to the gate checkpoint in the marketplace.

Ellie and Walter passed under the arching gateway unharmed, but Ben bounced back as he tried to cross the threshold. A shimmering, shadowy barrier sprang up against his hands, and mocking laughter echoed in his ears as he cried out.

"Ellie!" He pounded on the barrier with his fists, to no avail. "Walter, no, look out!"

A pale, fleshy creature appeared behind Walter, and the swordsman turned to face it, freezing in his tracks as the sword fell from his numb fingers. Ben got the impression of a multitude of dead, soulless eyes as the creature reached for Walter with its long, spindly fingers. Walter's head was tipped back as his mouth was forced open.

"_**The lost sheep returns to the flock. No one ever leaves the darkness behind.**_" Walter's mouth was forced impossibly wide, and Ben could see the man's jaw crack as the fleshy monster warped and twisted, disappearing down the old knight's throat.

"Walter!" Ben pounded harder on the barrier, feeling the pain of hitting something solid and ignoring it.

Walter fell to his knees, shadows coalescing around him in an ebony mass. Moving like a puppet with jerky, unsure movements, he rose to his feet, grasping his sword. Darkness subsumed his eyes, and the creature's voice rasped from Walter's throat.

"_**Do you see what you have allowed? We are all shadows now.**_"

"Walter!" Ellie moved forward, only to be thrown back by a blast of blackened plasma as Walter brought his sword up in a guard. It was a mockery, a silhouette of Walter's elegant and powerful fighting style, but it was enough to send Ellie reeling. "Walter, you have to fight it!"

"_**You let him die. You let us take him. But you're glad, are you not? You wished him pain. You wished him undone, unthreaded, unliving!**_" Walter brought his sword down in a brutal cut, the shadows around the blade coalescing into an extension of his will as he struck at his former student. She dove out of the way, drawing her pistol and shooting at the hilt of Walter's sword. Shimmering, dark energy blocked the shot, howling erupting around them as the bullet struck.

Ben kicked in futile anger at the barrier, helpless to do anything but watch as Ellie fought for her life.

Walter's face seemed to clear as she moved forward again, the shadows receding. "Your majesty, you have to end it! Stop this now!"

"Walter!" She took another step, and was sent spinning to the ground as the man backhanded her hard across the face. "Walter, no!"

"_**I only want to care for you, child. Am I not your father figure?**_"

Tears streamed from her face as she brought her sword up in a guard. Walter's broadsword crashed down on hers, all finesse gone in the throes of the creature's influence. Blow after blow rained down on her guard, but she did not waver, allowing Walter to exhaust himself on her defenses. Her arms wavered at the last moment, and Walter pressed his advantage. He raised the sword once more, a howl of triumph on his lips.

_"__**You rule over a graveyard. Is that what you wanted?**_"

"No. I rule over Albion. And I rule over _you_." The pearlescent wings erupted around her again as she drove the point of her sword through Walter's guard, the blade of his sword snapping as Ellie's sword pierced his chest. He gave a gasping cough as blood poured from his mouth, the sword dropping from his grasp as he collapsed in Ellie's arms.

The barrier dissipated in the warm summer sun as the dripping pools of shadow receded from everywhere, including Walter's fallen form. Ben rushed forward, skidding to a stop beside Ellie as she cradled Walter's head in her hands.

"Walter. Oh, Walter. I'm so sorry." Her shoulders heaved with wracking sobs as she held her mentor close, tears streaming from her eyes. Ben knelt, his arm around her as Walter's eyes opened.

"Hush now, little bird. No need to ruffle your feathers." Walter gave a liquid cough as his clouded eyes rolled up to see her. "You freed me from the darkness. I can die with the sun on my face."

"No, Walter, you're not going to die. I'll fix it, I will." She stroked his greying hair away from his forehead. "I can fix it."

His eyes sought Ben, and he gave him the last of his stern looks. "Take care of her, boy. You're all she has left."

Ben nodded, scrubbing the dampness from his cheeks with the heel of his hand. "Aye, sir. You have my word."

"By the guild, you'd better, or I'll haunt you if you don't." He coughed, blood speckling his lips as he drew a shuddering breath into his great chest. "Be well, little bird. Albion is in good hands."

"Walter…"

"Hush." Walter's breathing was more labored now. "Do you remember the stories I'd tell you when you were a child? Of your father, the great Hero king? You'd never get tired of hearing those stories. And after each one, you remember what you'd say?"

She nodded, giving him a watery smile. "Teach me how to be a Hero."

Walter smiled, his face serene. "And I did, didn't I, little bird? You've done me proud. You've always done me proud."

The breath left Walter's body, and his chest did not rise again. Ellie's weeping rose to a wail of sorrow as she pressed her forehead to his, wracking sobs unabated now. Ben could not do anything for her but place his arms around her while she weathered the storm of tears. She turned and sobbed into his shoulder, and he rocked her in an awkward embrace. Page and Sabine found them there, and soon the others joined them.

They gathered around Walter, heads lowered in sorrow as the Queen mourned her most loyal retainer. Logan and Page fashioned a makeshift litter, lifting Walter onto it. Ben was shocked to see the tears that twisted a track through the grime down Logan's face. Perhaps he'd been wrong about the erstwhile tyrant, after all. Ellie calmed herself, her mask sliding into place as he helped her rise.

She leaned against him, and he supported her with a hand on her waist as the mournful procession made their way up to the castle. It was the longest trip he had ever made, and as they wound around the hill to the back garden, the thought occurred to him that it was also the last that he would make as a soldier. The constant death was trying, and it was time to make a change. He glanced at the fiery curls of the woman beside him, and it decided him.

He escorted her to Logan's care, giving the man a stiff nod before he and two other soldiers began the work of digging Sir Walter Beck a proper grave. The back garden was a fitting place, a stone plinth the marker for now; their shovels were the only sound in the summer air as the work was done. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he helped lower the knight into his final resting place, and Ellie stepped forward.

"Walter was a good man, and he was the heart of the revolution, more than I could have ever been," she said, her voice carrying over the calls of birds and the stench of smoke in the air even as it wavered. "We'll put up a statue later, in his honor, so that none may forget the final sacrifice he made for Albion."

The others nodded, and she picked up a shovel. They filled in the grave, the dark, rich earth of the garden covering its staunchest hero. Ellie's shovelful was the last, and she tamped the earth around the grave with care. Ben saw her eyes were red but dry as she did her duty.

"We'll see to the care of the city," Page said. Kalin and Sabine nodded, moving off to help fight the fires and heal the wounded. Boulder stopped to hug Ellie to him, the quiet giant patting her back with a gentle touch. She smiled and returned the hug before Boulder trotted along after his wizened master.

The soldiers dispersed after saluting, returning to their duties, leaving Ben, Logan, and Ellie in the garden. Logan stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You did far better than I could have ever done, Eleanor." Logan's scarred lips split into a relieved smile. "You are indeed grown into the woman I always thought you would be."

"Logan," Ellie said, and Ben's eyes flickered to her face, taking in the naked hurt there. "I can rescind the order for your exile. We've lost so much…"

"No, sister. Albion will heal better without me in it." Logan enveloped his sister in a hug. "You can't back down on a decision that will ultimately strengthen the country."

She nodded. "I'll put together an escort to see you safely to the border."

"Captain Finn would be suitable."

"What?" The exclamation was in dual voice as Ellie and Ben both stared at Logan.

"The people would never think to attack me when I have such a loyal supporter of the Queen marching me to my exile," Logan said, explaining. "Captain Finn would not allow harm to come to me, surely?"

"Don't bet on it," Ben said, his voice a growl. "Give me a solid reason not to shoot you where you stand."

"My sister." Logan arched a brow at him.

"Give me another reason."

"_Ben_." Ellie's voice cut through the anger beginning to rise. He tugged his forelock, scowling. "Are you sure, Logan?"

"Quite sure. It will take six months to sail around Aurora to the lands beyond. Samarkand will be a fitting place to start anew, I think. One of father's allies lived there for a while. Can you spare him for that long?"

"A year?" Ellie asked. She looked at Ben. "It's…it's up to Ben. He's always wanted to travel."

He thought of the maps that lay on his desk, still ensconced in the resistance underground. They had shrunk to unimportance over the last year; his involvement with the army and its training, not to mention the time he'd spent with Ellie, rendering the desire to explore a far off thought in his head. The prospect of sailing to Samarkand without someone shooting at him might have piqued his interest a year before, but now the thought of travel seemed to be a burden. He realized it was because he was to leave Ellie.

He took a deep breath. "I'll go, but only if I have a place with you when I return."

"Of course you'll have a place in the army, Ben. We'd never let a decorated soldier like you get away." She smiled, her eyes still sad.

"No, Ellie. I want a place here, with you. Not as a soldier, but…with you. If you'll have me."

"Oh, Ben." She hugged him tight, and he sighed against her neck. "Of course you have a place by my side. That was a given, you silly man."

Logan cleared his throat. "I'll prepare for the journey, then. Captain Finn, I'll see you at the docks two days hence."

Ben nodded, still holding Ellie. "As you wish, sir."

It was the first grudging respect he'd shown Logan, and it seemed to surprise the dark man. Logan gave a slow nod, his eyes appraising Ben before he turned on his heel.

"I'm going to miss you." Ellie said as Logan left. "You'll write at every port, yes?"

"Of course." He shot her a cheeky smile. "I'll spend the voyage thinking of ways to make it up to you when I get back."

"You'd better." Her smile was strained, and he placed a kiss on her temple.

"Come on, sweetheart, let's go inside." He took her hand and led her up the steps. "We've got two days to spend together before I leave. Let's make them memorable."

She leaned against his shoulder. "Of course."

"A bath and then sleep. Just the two of us." He gave her a smile at the sight of her shocked expression. "I know how exhausted you are, Ellie. I'm worn to the bone, too. Sleep sounds heavenly right now."

She returned the smile, twining her fingers with his. "It does at that."

Later, after scrubbing the grime and dirt from themselves, they lay comfortable in each other's arms. She had already succumbed to the call of sleep, but he lay awake, his fingers tracing the curve of her arm as she nuzzled into his chest. He would miss this, he knew. Still, if it meant that Logan was keeping his word about exile, he would see it through. One last duty as a soldier of Albion.

Her pale hand lay in the forest of blond curls on his chest, and he memorized the shape of her fingers, the blunted nails that were ragged from her constant activity. He tried to memorize how she felt against him, the silken curl of her hair, even as sleep stole him away. His last sight was the beloved rise and fall of her chest in the afternoon sunlight.

* * *

A/N: Almost done now, one more chapter to go! Thanks for sticking with me!


	10. Goodbye

Chapter Ten: Goodbye

* * *

It was full dark when he woke to the sensation of a palm gliding across his chest as she nuzzled into his neck. She pressed her lips against his skin, the delicate tracery of her tongue making him shiver. She looked up, her eyes unreadable in the darkened room as her palm wandered lower. She dipped in for a kiss, her breath mingling with his as she coiled against him, heady in her desire. He felt himself responding even in his half-awake state, and he splayed his palm across the small of her back.

"Hello," he murmured, drawing her closer to kiss her again, his fingers tracing curves that would be etched into his memory if he had his way. She smiled against his mouth, her shift sliding across his skin with delicious friction. He slipped her off his chest, ignoring her whimper of protest as he spread her beneath him. The shift's ties were negotiable with only the light from her glowing tattoo, and he pulled the fabric from her, his mouth covering the exposed skin as he lavished her with kisses. She arched against him, a breathy sigh that might have been his name slipping past her lips.

His tongue dipped into her navel, and she squirmed, trying to get him to hurry. He took his time, blowing a soft breath across the curls at the juncture of her thighs before lifting her hips to get at the taste of her. A slow lap with the broad flat of his tongue left her mewling and breathless, and he repeated the motion to feel her writhe in his hands. Her hips lifted from the bed and he curled his tongue against the tender nub of flesh there, sucking on it with gentled lips as she gave a soft cry.

His fingers danced across her hips and legs, massaging and stroking. She parted her thighs wider as he traced a feathering line with his index finger to her center, sliding in with practiced ease as she whimpered under his ministrations. He could see the lines of her face in the blue light that flickered with her peaking arousal, and he watched her as he suckled at her sweetness.

She threw her head back, chest heaving, and he could stand it no longer. He rose over her, tracing kisses up her belly and over her breasts to her mouth. His lips met her, letting her taste herself even as his fingers strummed her tight against him as she shuddered. She was lost, coming apart in his hands, flying to pieces, and he was frantic now. He couldn't stop as he kissed her throat, biting with a growl as she lashed nails up his back. She quivered around his fingers, her exultant cry swallowed by his mouth as he slipped the sleeping trousers from his frame and slid home, her first release still quaking through her.

He lost himself in her, her taste and smell and the tight slickness of her as he gave a slow thrust, his need for her building. He arched his back, stroking his hips along her sex as he gave another rolling snap of his hips against her and she spun away into abandon again. She sobbed his name, and he answered with a whispered mantra of her name in her ear, laving her throat with nips and licks as he slid home faster and faster. He felt the winding thread of his release snap, and his hips stuttered as he thrust a final time, spilling himself deep inside her as he rocked her forward. She clutched him to her even as he balanced on shaky forearms to keep from squashing her under his boneless bulk.

They needed no words anymore; he tipped to the side and pulled her into the crook of his shoulder, boneless and sated. She drew patterns against his chest with her fingers until they drifted off to sleep again.

* * *

The ship was ready at dawn, and Ellie and Soludis were the only ones to see them off. The crew was loading last-minute cargo, and Logan said goodbye to his sister in the misty early morning. She hugged him to her, and he placed hesitant hands on her shoulders.

"Be well, little sister." He pressed scarred lips to her forehead. "Albion is in good hands. I'm sure of that now."

She nodded, her eyes bright as she stepped away. He pulled his cloak tighter around his plain traveling clothes and swept past Ben, giving them privacy as he boarded the gangplank. Ben held out his arms, and she stepped into them, laying her forehead against his.

"Be careful," she said.

"Always, sweetheart. I'll send you a letter from every port. You have my word." He placed his fingertips under her chin, an impudent smirk on his lips. "I wonder if I should fill it with all the things I'm going to do with you when I get home."

"You'd better not, or you'll whip me into such a frenzy I'll lock you in my chambers for a solid month when you get back." She gave him an appraising look.

"You're not arguing your case well, love. You're giving me another reason to do it anyway." He laughed as she swatted at his shoulder. "I _will_ miss you, Ellie. Look for me on the docks in a year, hey?"

"Every day," she said. He pressed his lips to hers, the kiss chaste and sweet before the whistle of the ship startled them apart.

"That's me, then," he said. He pecked her once more on the lips and jogged up the gangplank, his pack slung over his shoulder. "In a year, Ellie!"

"I'll be waiting!" she called, her hand arcing over her head in a wave. Logan raised his hand to her too before turning to look at the horizon.

He stood next to the deposed king, watching the sun rise as the ship crested into the waters of the open ocean.

"Looking forward to Samarkand, Logan?"

"A new adventure, Captain Finn? I'm all aflutter." A small smile graced Logan's mouth as he clutched the bow. "It's been far too long."

Ben nodded. For once in his life, he agreed with Ellie's brother. This would be an adventure to remember. "Well then, let's see where it takes us, shall we?"

Six years later, Ben Finn would remember those words and swear he'd meant nothing by them. For now, however, he watched the sun rise with Albion's former tyrant, breathing in the fresh, crisp air of the sea. It was good to be alive.

* * *

A/N: All right, that's the end of this one, Constant Readers. See? I _can_ finish what I start. This should leave you with some hope for _Aquila_ and _Obeisance_, yes? (There is a sequel to this in the works, which will hopefully be done soon. I'm writing in alternating waves, and this took roughly a two-week span to do. If I decide to do this with the other longer stories I do, I could probably finish them. Perhaps I will do that next. At any rate, thanks to all of you who read my writing, especially the ladies of the SSG, who are a constant terrible (wonderful) influence on me.

Til Next Time,

Lywinis


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